Under the Morning Moon
by Ky the Irish Pikey
Summary: After the War of the Ring, it seems history replays itself yet again for an already tortured Legolas...Will Aragorn be able to save his friend in time? *COMPLETE* [Sequel to Meeting in the Woods]
1. Closed Spaces

Under the Morning Moon 

Chapter One: Closed Spaces

***

Author's Notes: Here it is! The (long expected?) first chapter of the sequel to Meeting in the Woods. I hope you enjoy it-this chapter's pretty dull, as I have the plot for every chapter pretty much aside this one in mind. I wrote it fairly hastily, as I'm just taking a break from my fairly frantic studying to write it.

Have any of you seen Donnie Darko? It's a completely barmy film, but it's also brilliant, highly recommended. Sexy Jake Gyllenhall is completely deranged-reminded me of Gollum, hehehehe. See it. Great way to spend an hour and twenty minutes in between showings of The Two Towers.

Notes about the story: These first few chapters are set during FoTR, TTT and RoTK. I've only read RoTK once, and have (unfortunately) not yet memorized the details, so those bits are fairly AU-sorry. This is a movie-based fic, so any resemblance to the films is because…it resembles the films.

*winces* Incredibly short. But couldn't take this chapter anywhere further. Sorry. 

Enjoy!

***

     Soundlessly, leather moccasins glided over the thick snow. The upright figure of snow-flecked elf glanced about, carefully maneuvering himself around the queue of hunched travelers. Without stumbling, he carefully slid around a subtle contour on the un-trodden mountain path.

     He stuck his chin out, trying to catch the lofty voice that pounded along with the undeviating snow. Legolas winced, despite himself, as milky snowflakes tangled into softly curled raven lashed, as ice penetrated his sharp eyes. The Prince furrowed his brow, the familiar creases of worry forming over his features.

     "There is a fell voice on the air," he observed, tensing against the unfavourable winds. His voice came gruff, louder than usual to not be lost in the whistling wind. The voice continued, a chant, from faraway yet seemingly right there, echoing through the dense mountains.

     He barely heard, the wind catching in his ears, impairing him, as Gandalf yelled, buried up to his waist in the uncompressed snow. "It's Saruman!!" 

            Exchange of harsh words, muffled by snow and worry, came from his companions, but Legolas didn't have the heart to listen. Besides, he was tense, in the back of his heart, knowing something was going wrong. He quirked his head, looking up to the sky, eyes reflecting the magnificent, dangerous sight. From a distance, a bulb of light exploded, forking out, again and again, illuminating the sky, nearly blinding the already impaired elf. 

     He barely had the presence of mind to retreat from the edge of the mountain, as he numbly saw the lightening crash against the mountaintop. But somehow, the elf managed to throw himself towards the mountain, darting out to snatch the Gray Pilgrim from his dangerous position. 

            The snow came from nowhere, overwhelmingly thick, clumping around Legolas' form, trapping him underneath. For a fleeting, terrifying moment the world cut out, and all Legolas saw or knew was white, a vast and endless tunnel of white, and all he heard was the muffled cries from the fellowship around-then silence. Was he dead? Was this ethereal pallor death? 

     The world ripped painfully back into reality, and the distant hum of life around, though stifled by the snow. Without a thought, Legolas pressed forward with his palm, and quickly delved a hole through the snow, pressing forward. He pushed to the surface, clearing snow-tangled flaxen hair from his face with an unsteady jerk of his head, glancing about.

     Slowly, the others found their ways to the surface, some with aid that Legolas gave without realising. Aragorn looked worriedly at his friend, noticing the clouds that overtook his eyes, a wispy haze that divided the elf from the tangible world, as if he was in shock. Aragorn knew the elf couldn't think anything more horrible than the claustrophobic walls of that snow closing in around.

~*~

    Legolas stared wordlessly at the sharp face of the rock, unmarked as of yet. He glanced over his shoulder towards Aragorn, unable to suppress the bitter sarcasm that laced his voice when he next spoke. "Moria. Brilliant. Just fabulous."

            Apparently he was wrong. With the snow, at least, there was life, the thrill of ice against the stolid figure of the elf. It was surprising to the elf to find that he needed some sort of outside feelings, any type of emotion or physical contact, to justify his existence. He knew, in Moria, the rocks wouldn't whisper, they'd only offer their impassive silence. Pokerfaced pebbles, the elf thought, wincing at the potential lunacy in his future, spilled by the speechless rock and the emotionless weather deep under the earth. 

            "It'll be all right," Aragorn's voice suddenly came, and Legolas looked over at his friend with a knit brow. The man was remarkably perceptive, for a man. Though Legolas knew that this was far from any ordinary bloke, the kind of humans that often lingered on the outskirts of elvish town, the elf was still caught aback by how bloody elvish this man could so often be. 

            Legolas shook his head dismissively. "I swore an oath to protect the one that bears this ring; I will not let any dwarf burrow lead me astray from this course." He glanced over at the wall, now reflecting a faultless archway. Speak friend, and enter, Legolas thought, but pushed the thought away. It was Gandalf's riddle, and the elf wanted to keep himself as much a shadow as he could. 

            What seemed like hours later, a voice, softly higher than the familiar one of the wizard's, spoke. Legolas glanced at relief as, at last, Frodo spoke the answer to the riddle. For a terrifying moment, Legolas thought that Gandalf had forgotten elvish-say it, Gandalf, mellon-say it!-and the elf feared he would have to interject, but finally the elder gathered his senses. 

            "Bloody hell," Legolas couldn't help but murmur running a hand vaguely through his precisely placed flaxen hair, looking at the threatening darkness, the toothless mouth that had opened up now from the outside of Moria. What madness would swallow the elf inside?

***

A/N: Pretty bad start, I reckon-boring, movie-verse, no action, really…I just wanted to develop Legolas' emotions about his quest, and particularly about Moria-it will come in handy later. It's a slightly overused thought, the elf being all claustrophobic, I suppose…But I'll try and make this story as original as I can.

Hope you all enjoyed despite! =^^= I'll update as soon as I can.   



	2. Muffled Stars

Under the Morning Moon 

Chapter Two: Muffled Stars

***

_Author's notes: Second chapter, already! I bet you're shocked I have it up, no? I didn't think I'd have time to write it today, but it appears that here it is! Whoa. Responses to the reviews are all in the bottom, so as to be less distracting to the chapter-and easier for all those silent readers who just pan over them =^^=._

_I sort of overwrote this chapter to make up for the horrible first one. I hope I didn't alienate any of you too much with either the summary or the bloody awful first chapter, but I promise I'll *try* and make this story more interesting (a.k.a better) as it goes on. _

_*** directly before a stream of words signifies the beginning of a flashback-and indicates that the text should be in italics, but word's being stupid so it's not. The flashback ends with *** as well._

_Any mistakes in the Elvish are a thousand times apologized for._

_ALSO! This is a sequel to another story (Meeting in the Woods) in case any of you are completely confused by the references-to-the-past I made/will make. =^^=_

_Enjoy! =^^= _

*** 

_Four days. _When Gandalf had spoken those words, it had all suddenly seemed so _real. _This wasn't just an avid threat cast by the young mind of a halfling-going through the mines. It was a fact, and he would just have to bear it. But the thought of those walls all sides, closing in, was nearly enough to drive him wild with misery. And that dwarf, ax proudly resting on a squared shoulder, chortling about childhood memories as they passed through the darkness.

You couldn't even tell day from night in this blasted place-for when daytime rose out, out in the world, _outside, _the sun touched only the mountainous rocks covering the mines, and not the bitter realm that the fellowship now made home in. Legolas glanced down at his fingers, the familiar pallor showing through the shadows, finding his hands shaking. How could he hide this?

During the day, Aragorn had often drifted back from the vanguard, falling silently into step with the elf. Out of all the fellowship, it seemed that this man was the only one who noticed any change in the placid elf, and tried to act casual as he casually glanced down his shoulder at the blonde creature. Making sure he was all right, at least for now. 

"Legolas," Aragorn breathed, gently touching his calloused fingertips against the tailored shoulder of the elf's tunic. Hazy-eyed, the elf glanced back, brow somewhat creased. "We rest here, tonight. Were not you listening?" His voice, though still laced with a familiar condescending he had adapted since Rivendell, was clearly that of a worried friend. 

Legolas shook his head lethargically, pushing a strand of hair violently away from his sharpened eyes. "I heard," he murmured in return. His gaze shifted, looking at the lot that had been staring upon the man and elf. In wordless agreement, they all turned, beginning to immerse themselves in rolling out bedrolls, and finding miss-matched handfuls of food in the depths of their packs.

Legolas tried to turn away, haughtily dismissive of his friend's wariness, but was stopped when a sturdy hand struck him gently in the chest. Taken aback, he turned his head sharply, looking at his friend defiantly through narrowed eyes. "I'm all _right, _Aragorn," insisted the elf. Though Aragorn's umber eyes showed no acceptance of the elf's words, he dropped his hand away, letting the elf drift towards the fellowship.

That night, Legolas fell asleep shuddering, despite himself, trying to come to terms with the fear that locked into him. The others were asleep, safe Boromir who inaudibly smoked a pipe while waiting out his watch. But the elf, he was wide-awake, his eyes staring into the darkness of the high ceiling. Desperately, he listened for the whisper of the moon, the gentle call of the trees and the snow and the faraway plants. 

Instead, only his breathing reverberated like a drumbeat round his head, his desperate need to know that somewhere, outside of this incarceration, there dwelled anything _alive, _anything that was green and fair and wonderfully alive, that had a soft song of it's own to utter to the hopeless elf. The stars were muffled down here.

~*~

Their second day began after Legolas' shift. Begrudgingly, the elf had traveled from bedroll to bedroll, gently shaking life back into the motionless forms of his companions. All but Gimli seemed reluctant to force themselves deeper into the tomb, but the Dwarf was kept alive by the belief that, still, the Dwarf-lords lived, and he would find Balin, alive. They just had to venture deeper, quicker.

Legolas hunched beside the coals of the fire, blowing out the last ruby sparks. Though he hardly relished the idea of traveling onwards, it did mean that the other side of the mines would be all that much closer. He rose with the others, allowing himself to be guided into the queue, bringing up the rear, followed only by that man, Boromir.

 Traveling was easier over the stone than it had been in the bitter conditions of the mountain for the mortals at hand, but the crags and roughly-delved paths were so unchanging, so square and dull that Legolas found himself more than once drifting off during the day, passing his mind into the realms of elf-dream. Many times, the Steward's son had laid a firm hand on the elf's shoulder, rousing him. 

"This is dull for me too, Master Elf, but we need you attentive," he had murmured, his voice gentle, yet commanding-like the soothing voice of a skilled governor. Legolas had mentally forgiven Boromir for his unfair outburst to Aragorn so long ago in Rivendell, and had immediately taken to the man. Boromir was kind despite his arrogant shell, and an extremely good friend-particularly to the haflings Pippin and Merry.

"Yes," Legolas agreed, abstractedly rubbing his left eye with deft fingers. "I'm sorry, thank you." The elf then fell into his accustomed step behind Sam, slow steps to keep from overtaking the hobbit, slow steps to keep from being heard. 

~*~  
  


Aragorn had taken a spot flanking Gandalf, occasionally glancing back on the seven in a solemn line behind. Most had given up conversation hours before-the only sounds now came from the careless feet of the inexperienced hobbits, and the occasional curse from Gimli as he misjudged the height of yet another overhanging rock. 

"What's the point in having a helmet if all the blows strike you mid-face?" he grumbled to Pippin behind him, rubbing the bridge of his reddened nose with plump fingers. Aragorn let his gaze sweep past the dwarf to the others. Frodo and Sam followed Pippin, then Legolas and Boromir. The elf had become hunched again, a habit that Aragorn had thought he witnessed the end to. The Prince had defensively curled his shoulders inwards, hands uselessly draped at his side, head bowed forward, glancing to the side. 

"Legolas will find his blitheness again, Aragorn," Gandalf broke in to Aragorn's thoughts, causing the man to turn. "He suffers only from shock. He does not hear the murmurs of life about him, the hum of life familiar only to the elves. It is dead in here, and he reacts by being dead himself. Do not burden yourself with worrying for him."

Aragorn nodded slowly, stealing another glance back. When, more than a year before, the elf had fair broken down in finally-friendly arms, Aragorn had felt an almost parental need to protect the elf. He acknowledged that the elf had faced more in life than Aragorn ever would, and could probably deal with it by himself, but deep inside he knew the Golden Prince could not survive without a friendly hand guiding him away from fey paths.

***"I have enough problems with my father as it is, Aragorn," the elf had said conceitedly, thinning his eyes towards his friend. "I do not need another constantly leading me along the way,"

_"I'm not your father, Legolas-I am your friend! I lead you because I couldn't stand for you to venture astray."_

_"I know where to go, _Rhîw-Lotheg._ I've learned that much in my time," Legolas had retorted, using one of the elvish name he had bestowed upon his friend. Aragorn had never understood that name-Winter-Flower, a murmured christening that the elf had spoken since the night on the crags…***_

Gandalf extended an arm, catching the dazed Aragorn in the chest. Aragorn glanced, puzzled, upon the leader of this fellowship, and found only the comfortingly creased emotionless visage common to Gandalf. "We rest here," the wizard announced. In a flash of gray, he ascended a stairwell to the side that Aragorn hadn't noticed. 

Legolas cast a withering glance upon Aragorn as the man opened his mouth to voice some abstract concern, swiftly following the hobbits up the stairs. Gentle as he had always been, despite his quivering heart and worse, his wavering courage, the elf bent over, laying a slender hand in between's Sam's shoulders as the hobbit slipped, guiding him to the plateau where they would sleep.

~*~

Aragorn waited until Legolas' watch, the second of the night, before approaching the elf. As usual, he was cross-legged on a rock, perfectly balanced where a mortal may have wavered, softly singing to himself in elvish.

 "_Lle tyava quell, Legolas?_" [Are you well, Legolas?] Aragorn inquired gently, leaning against a stone near to the elf. Annoyed, the archer looked up, cutting his mournful song short. He quirked an eyebrow, his sapphire eyes scanning Aragorn's expression expertly, as if judging his motives. 

"_Uuma dela onin, Aragorn. Esta." _[Don't worry about me, Aragorn. Rest.] Legolas replied firmly, one of his fingers tracing the contours of the bow proudly lain in his lap. He swept his eyes over towards the rest of the fellowship, protectively glancing over each sleeping form, before returning his enervated eyes towards Aragorn.

"_Tampa, Legolas," _[Stop, Legolas,] Aragorn pleaded, annoyed with his friend's pride. "I know you fear this darkness, but you are safe here, I promise you that," Aragorn pressed, dropping into the Westron. 

"It is not darkness I fear, _Rhîw-Lotheg_," the elf snapped. He winced at himself, glancing at his upturned palms. Still, his hands shook, the quivering relentless. Though he tried to keep himself from breaking again, from succumbing do the overwhelming urge to scream or to crumple uselessly into a ball, he couldn't stop himself from hissing angrily. 

Aragorn shook his head softly, and glanced towards the ceiling. "It is dead in here. I have felt it too. Gimli may believe that the _Naugrim _still live, but I do not harbor such a hope." Aragorn hesitated, still carefully watching his fair friend, before pressing, "You need not be dead yourself, Legolas-this world needs your light. Will you deny the others that? We all look to you for sturdy ground, Legolas. You are unearthly, but you are sound, and that is something we all need to hold on to."

Aragorn trailed off, scrunching his face slightly. The words he spoke didn't make sense to him, but they had been thrown from his throat in all truth. He certainly always had looked to the elf as a reassurance that it would all turn out all right in the end. Perhaps this protective being deep within the man that surfaced whenever Legolas was in trouble was greedy, and only protected the elf to keep Aragorn himself from going mad with fear.

Legolas shuddered involuntarily, and condemned himself violently in elvish, before looking at Aragorn. For a moment, Aragorn saw the fear in Legolas's soft eyes, and desperately hoped that the elf would speak of what he felt. Instead, he murmured, "'tis now your watch." 

Aragorn stared after the elf in disbelief, and couldn't bring himself to believe that the elf was really asleep when his eyes merged with the dream world. 

And indeed, lying stiffly in his bedroll, feigning sleep, Legolas couldn't quite bring himself to terms with what he felt. How could the fellowship look to him for hope when he grasped to all of them, though inconspicuously, for just that?

***

A/N: Bit longer than the first one. I got fairly in to writing it, so sorry if it seems more amateur-ish than usual…

In response to your reviews (YAAAAY!)

Mother Nature: This is more supposed to be a serious-fic. I'm sorry about the whole Legolas-As-A-Brit thing…In all my general-fictions, I tend to make all my characters talk like I do, which can sometimes be a bit alienating. I usually go back and edit dialogue in fan-fics, but I forgot to on this one…LOL Thanks for pointing that out! So note to everybody; Legolas isn't actually as overwhelmingly English as he previously was. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

RuByMoOn: Hope I updated soon enough =^^= And hope you enjoyed!

Goblz: LOL Thanks! Hope you didn't have to wait to long, and I hope the chapter wasn't horrible, and you'll stick around for the next.

Evil Spapple Pie: LOL Yep, the sequel. *dramatic sigh* Sorry about the whole my-brain-is-a-thesaurus…My family is composed of brilliant geniuses (unfortunately it apparently skips a generation. No, wait. It just skipped me.), and I absorbed all of their smart-like words…I'll try and tone-down on my crazy-talk LOL. Hope I wrote more, and soon enough, and hope you enjoyed!

Slea: LOL I'm glad you like my character-assumptions, and I hope you didn't find them TOO OC. Thanks for your review! Hope you enjoyed!

Elentari Manwe: Oh no! Sorry about giving you a bad feeling. Of course I'm not going to make him go (completely) mad. Only enough to look sexy! I used to be incredibly claustrophobic-now I just call it "cozy" and it's all good-so I know about how mad it can make people…LOL Tunnels are evil though, I can completely relate to that. There's a plethora of tunnels on the road when I drive through the Rockies, and it nearly drives me completely off my rocker, again. Hope you enjoyed! =^^=

Tithen Min: I bloody LOVED that film. "My stepdad had emotional problems." "Hey! I have those too!" ROFL Though the bunny was extremely scary, particularly in the movie-scene I thought…Gaah. I'm back! Hope that's a good thing XD Thanks for the quote J 

Celestra: LOL Glad you think the idea's original =^^= And I hope that originality is a good thing. Don't have a pic of my shrine yet XD I still have to buy a picture-frame for my ickle poster, and fix my scanner up…but soon! LOL

ElvenBabyEvenstar: *stares blankly* He lives WHERE!? That's so wrong, though! Ok…let's say he ran away from home as a child and lives in a TREE because it scared him so much ROFL…Where'd you find that out? =^^= Thanks for your review! And YAAAAAAAAAAY You have an account-can't wait to read some of your fics! Anxiously awaiting the bribe fic…and I bet your art is beautiful even if your art teacher is annoying. (I stained my pants today with acrylics. Grahhhh…) Hope you enjoyed! =^^=


	3. Recovery, of Sorts

****

Under the Morning Moon

Chapter Three

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Recovery, of sorts

***

__

****

Author's Notes: I found a time-gap to write this in from my studying. I hope you enjoy it as much as I actually did enjoy writing it. I think this chapter is pretty horrible, just the normal dull my-life-sucks-introspection bollocks…I'm going to write another one soon, adding some action, but I cut this one short when I realized how long I was taking to write it…Sorry! Don't flame….pleeeease. 

***

Sleep was dark, and hideous, a gaping mouth filled with shadowy hands that grasped at a torn figure. Sleep was an infinite darkness in which a broken creature, unbleeding but clearly scathed, was suspended, as if undecided about whether to fall. Then, suddenly, the obscure touches from the dark turned into grabs, forcefully tossing Legolas' dream form about. Quivering, he lay suspended on an invisible platform, before, suddenly, _falling…_

Legolas shot bolt upright, his slight form surprisingly doused in perspiration, letting out a strangled cry into his hands. His bedroll clumped around his waist, he became aware once again of his surroundings. Slowly, cobalt eyes gleaming against the pressing dark, he looked about, unable to suppress the fear radiating from his pupils.

Unfortunately for the elf, the wary Aragorn was on watch. His head snapped towards the sleeping group, immediately plucking the somewhat sodden form of the blonde from the silhouettes. He rose without distressing the pebbles below, and knelt beside his friend. 

The elf scooted away, hooding his eyes threateningly. Though fuming at having allowed himself to cause such a stress, and to still be quivering at the childish nightmare, he bared his teeth in an awkwardly feral way towards the man. His eyes were sharp, quite unlike the ordinary gentle that surrounded the elf's visage, and his voice contained a sharp malice that Aragorn hadn't before witnessed.   


"_Kela, Aragorn!" _[Go away, Aragorn!]He hissed loudly, shifting backwards away from the outstretched hand of his friend. Aragorn nearly recoiled in horror at the satanic voice issued from such innocent lips, but instead leaned close, whispering frantically. 

__

"Ed' i'ear ar' elenea, Legolas! Dina!" [By the sea and the stars, Legolas! Be quiet!] Legolas answered by widening his eyes, drawn from the trance of fear that had previously overtaken his judgment. He glanced fearfully around, eyes worried.

__

"Amin hiraetha, mellonamin…" [I'm sorry, my friend] Legolas replied quickly. He allowed his gaze to fall towards the ground. His hands shook violently, and he clasped them tightly together, biting harshly onto his lip. Aragorn glanced around, making sure each figure of the fellowship was sound, sleeping, before rolling a hand onto Legolas' shoulder.

"Do not fret. But please, don't deceive me, Legolas. You are unwell, it is _obvious." _Legolas nodded slowly, and touched his fingertips against his surprisingly gaunt cheeks. He barely recognized the sallow feeling of his face against his trembling fingers, and found tears in his eyes.

He felt like scolding himself, like slapping his face or twisting his wrist until the childish emotions went away. But for a terrifying moment, the bleak world was nothing, and Aragorn's face was blotted into oblivion. Legolas' reeled, crumpling forward. 

Aragorn caught the slender elf by the shoulders, shocked at the form that now lay limply in his hands. Aragorn flipped the weightless lad so that he lay over a supportive arm, and traced his palm across the creature's face. The warm pallor of Legolas' face had been replaced by an almost bone white, his cheek sallow and hued with green. His eyes gleamed with something almost like the mortal fever, dangerously mad.

Legolas weakly let a hand touch Aragorn's cheek, desperately struggling to sit up. His fevered, frightened eyes searched for solace in the chocolate orbs on Aragorn's face. "Who am I, Aragorn?" Legolas breathed, his vision wiped away, only dimly aware of the arms that held him and the sleeping figures all around.

"You are Legolas, _mellonamin,_" Aragorn replied, keeping the quiver from his voice. "And we need you now," he almost pleaded. Legolas nodded silently. Everything was still out of focus, and surreal, nothing quite existing through the eyes of the elf, but in his mind it was clear-Legolas couldn't let himself drift away like this again. He needed to keep Frodo safe.

Legolas slumped backwards into his bedroll, staring dazedly at the ceiling. He still couldn't hear _life, _and felt no warmth in the cold of the mines. And he still could feel the fresh memories of his long ago in Thranduil's home. But he wouldn't let himself go, not when Lothlorien was barely two days away.

~*~

When Gandalf finally remembered the way, Legolas was among the first to spring towards the stairwell, anxious to continue. They had wasted precious hours lingering on the plateau, smoking in unwavering silence. 

"Ah! It's that way!" Gandalf had said, and immediately the three heads of the elf, the Steward's son and the son of Arathorn turned simultaneously to the voice. Merry leapt up, having been bored preciously near to tears, and irritated with Pippin's constant prodding. 

"He's remembered!" remarked the hobbit wistfully.

The Pilgrim shook his head, and laughed slightly despite his tense mood. "No-the air smells a lot less foul down there. When in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose," the Wizard joked. Kindly, he laid a hand on Merry's shoulder, guiding him down the stairs.

__

If only, Legolas thought wryly, but offered no indication to such a thought. Instead, he blankly turned towards the stairs, and followed Aragorn down.

***

Legolas expertly flicked one of his many Mirkwood arrows through slender fingers, notching the arrow. He aimed, eyes narrowed, waiting tensely for the precise moment where the ax would draw back…His arrow glanced soundlessly through the air, issuing a strangled squeal as it pierced the throat of an approaching Orc through an uneven hole in the door.

He loaded his bow again, waiting. Here, caught up in battle, Aragorn's bow singing alongside, Legolas near forgot all his ailments. This was too intense a threat to release on the haflings should any of his arrows fall short.

With a splintered groan, the door fell forth. A torrent of orcs, moving as one animate object as they surged through the gaping arch, screamed and raised their manufactured blades towards the fellowship. Trusting his instincts, the elf didn't bother to aim, swiftly releasing another arrow, promptly felling another beast.

The elf dodged aside from the Cave Troll, angling his bow upwards, and immediately striking the creature in the heart. _Little effect, _the elf thought angrily. He pranced aside, reaching to grab one of his shortknives. Aragorn shifted aside, vaguely murmuring "_Quel marth, mellon!" _[Good luck, friend] towards the elf, twisting away from another blow.

In the distance, Sam twisted, his pot clanging violently against the faces of his foes. Legolas tilted his head, narrowly avoiding a blow. "_I'narr en gothrim glinuva nuin I'anor!_" screamed Legolas viciously. Rapidly, he scaled an unkempt stairway, firing arrows towards the opponents below. 

*** 

You could see it in his eyes; there was nothing uncertain about them. Though, sure, they still harbored an almost childlike innocence that Aragorn was still amazed by, they were grave, and perilous. Lacking the placid emotions of his culture, the Prince maliciously slammed the heel of his foot into the chest of his fallen foe, hastily jerking one of his spent arrows from a gaping wound. There was no uncertainty in the way he fought, only unleashed determination. 

Aragorn ducked, quickly turning on heel to shove his _Narsil _into the gut of an orc behind. Somewhere close, Legolas' bow sang coldly, followed immediately by the shrill dying cry of an enemy. Lithe as usual, the unscathed elf notched another arrow, watching the Cave Troll now, waiting for the ugly creature to rear back his head, screaming, before promptly felling it with an arrow lodged in the throat. 

"No," Aragorn allowed himself to breathlessly gasp, falling towards Frodo automatically. He swept the weightless hobbit upwards, his brain not even offering the thought that, perhaps, the innocent ringbearer might still be alive.

"He's alive," Sam realised hoarsely, taut as if ready to pounce Frodo, embrace his best friend, but clearly restraining himself for courtesy's sake. 

Aragorn didn't even hear himself as he continued to speak, afraid of dropping the hafling's shoulder from his protective palm, relief spreading through his form like some liquid added to his blood stream-a type of warmth Aragorn rarely felt. 

Frodo imperceptibly nodded his assent, grappling to untie his tunic. Shimmering in a breathtakingly etheral way beneath the no-longer-prim Shire garb there gleamed a magnificent vest of _mithril _links, the collar embossed with gold. "I'm all right," Frodo breathed. "I'm not hurt,"

Legolas beamed, tight-lipped and wild-looking compared to his normal state. He gently smoothed back his frayed hair with a hand, before letting it fall slack to his hand, still holding his bow in his hand. Suddenly, with vacant shock, the elf tilted his head, looking down at his palms, and marveled to find that, for once in the darkness and gloom that not long ago had seemed so overwhelming, his hands were sturdy, strong, and unshaking.

****

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A/N: Sorry about that, I think that chapter was pretty crappy…As soon as I can get this lot out of the War of the Rings I can stop having to rake my brain for the lines-which I can recite while watching the film, but otherwise have a hard time remembering. I know that this last section of the story wasn't movie-loyal, but if you could find it in your hearts to pretend it was? LOL =^^= Sorry to all the movie-freaks, I know I'd spazzzz out after reading this chapter, and you're perfectly welcome to, I feel that awful ROFL.

And sorry for having such a delay in this update; I had the third chapter mostly written on Thursday, but didn't get the chance to upload…I hope that none of you were so angry that you deleted my story from all your to-read lists and sent me flaming letters or something…that'd be rather unpleasant. But I guess I had it coming *guilty smile* 

I have a movie recommendation! For all of you Elrond/Agent Smith fans, check out "Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert." Fab fab FAB film, bloody hilarious, we get to see what Elrond did on his 'off' days, or at least I like to think of it like that.

In response to your reviews:

Anduin: Tee-hee…I guess the third chapter sort of did, too. Hope it wasn't too horribly boring…Thanks for your review, and I hope the next chapter isn't such crap *guilty little laugh* XD

Legolas' Lover: LOL I'd let you come help out your hot-(godlike)-elfness, but…At leas for now…He's MINE! *strokes action figure possessively* BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Erm…*cough* Yes…Thanks so much for your review! LOL! Legolas!

Reginabean: You know what's good? Coffee. WheeeeeeeeeeeeAAAAA!!!! LOL Sorry to have kept you up, and I indeed don't hold the coffee against you as I found your review flattering and not at all odd-well, maybe a bit, but in a *GOOD* way LOL =^^=

Kasandra: LOL Sorry to have kept you waiting for the sequel/this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks =^^=

Shauna: LOL I did write more…I sort of had a vague hint in this chapter about all of his *issues* Hope you liked this chapter despite…everything that made it horrible ROFL. Enjoy the upcoming ones!

Tithen Min: Tee-hee! *blushes* Glad my return is at least not condemned…that would be too flamey for my tastes. I can't believe it! No exclamation points! I'll just have to make up for it myself!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! …Tee-hee, coffee.

Celestra: Augh, but this one wasn't out very fast, was it now? Sigh. Glad my chapter was spiffy! I've never gotten that one before LOL I had a hamster named Spiffy…Gave him to my friend, and my friend's brother micro-waved him. Story of my life ROFL LEGOLAS PLUSHIE! MUST FINISH SHRINE! *explodes* =^^=

Elentari Manwe: Sorry about the OOC Aragorn/Legolas stuff… Don't think it particularly improved in this chapter, but I WILL Try. I will! LOL! Mmm…Orlando Bloom…All of his movies except for Pirates of the Caribbean that are coming out/he has been in (except for Calcium Kid, I think LOL) have been based on books! Just shows how smart-like he is! ROFL now that that bit of stalker information is over…THANKS!!!! For your brilliant review =^^= Made me smile like that without the whiskers.

Evil Spapple Pie: Used a bit less crazy talk in this chapter, I reckon. I tried hard. LOL Legolas does seem distant…sexily distant…*muses* *coughs* I mean…Yes, I have reasons for that in upcoming chapters! I swear, I *DO* LOL Same with the stars, it's the reason I love camping. It's just more reassuring to have the stars and the trees everywhere to keep you safe…but then the ice weasels come……

Mouse: *blushes* Aww…thanks. I'm glad that this isn't turning out to be a slash too ROFL Umm…to get me to update again…Well just send 35$ preferably American (worth more) or 35 Quid (Worth exceptionally more) to the c/o…No mate, I kid LOL Your reviews make it worth-while J 

Ithildin: Well…if you wrote that review like naught seconds ago I guess this update would be right now, but considering I got your review on what…the eighteenth? The twentieth? I guess I'm a bit behind…SORRY L LOL But thanks for reading the other two chapters.

Bobo: ROFL I watched all the DVD things, very crude, but there was all that stuff in the trailer that wasn't in the film! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO *breathes* OOOOOOOH! I can't WAIT till November to see all the deleted scenes and comentary! But I guess I have to L Thanks for your review, hope you got good grades on your homework LOL

ElvenBabyEvenstar: Though I am still miffed by the whole mountain-dwelling junk, I think I can incorperate in to the story. Thanks for clarifying that. I've yet to read Unfinished Tales and the Silmarilian, but once I do I ASSURE you all no more of this continuity mistakes will exist. Well, at least less of them. Well at least less frequently. Blah…No promises, sorry ROFL Waiting anxiously still for bribe-fic, and I bet it'll be brilliant, no matter how long it takes =^^=


	4. Gandalf's Absence

Under the Morning Moon Chapter Four Gandalf's Absence 

***

**Happy Birthday to Me! (January 26th, 2002) **

_(sorry about that shameless 'plug' there *cough*)_

_A/N: I'm _terribly _sorry about this chapter. It has lots more of Legolas' emotional rubbish. I tried really hard to get in some action, but the fellowship all ended up in Lothlorien, and unless I had some Haldir-sparring or something, it would be pretty AU to add in violence…But SOON! I promise!!!_

_Thanks for all your _amazingly spectacular overwhelming _reviews. As thanks, I'll have Legolas take off his shirt. I just realised something-poor Orli has like the AXE EFFECT on women without actually wearing any Axe. La de la._

_On another note-have any of you seen any pictures of the bloke who plays Haldir-namely Craig Parker? He's 33, and I think he's actually quite sexy. No offense meant to Haldir fans, I didn't think he was all that spectacular looking in the movie, and I'm convinced he writes in a Journal about how much he wants Legolas etc., but he's rather nice IRL. Just thought you might like to know LOL_

***

The concept of _death _was not completely alien to the innocent elf; yet there was something on the fact that Gandalf no longer dwelt among the now grieving fellowship that caused an uncanny uncertainty to close over the elf.

The feeling of escape the dungeons of _Moria _was instantaneous relief. The air felt less burdensome on Legolas' shoulders, and the sky above was broken open with organic life. Each distant blade of grass in the 'Lorien glades and each rearing tree whispered their respected din. Of course, Legolas felt immediate relief, finally allowing himself to breathe and live and feel.

But there was something beyond relief that clearly wrote itself over the stolid elf's expression-there was absolute terror and confusion, something that he wished could be grief but never would be. He couldn't grieve, not for the others, because to him it seemed that Gandalf was only missing, his fall was only a momentary setback. What was death?

For centuries after Legolas' mother had passed, the then-lad had wandered aimlessly through the paths of Mirkwood and vacantly sob out for his disappeared mother. Where had she _gone? _Thranduil insisted through now-clouded eyes that she was gone, _stop looking, _she won't return. But how couldn't she? Legolas knew that his mother loved him, despite all, and she wouldn't just abandon her son. _She would come back._

But where was she? 

***

The night in Lothlorien was not spent languidly lounging amidst the tangled roots akin to the forest, as Aragorn had hoped they would be. Instead, the breaking fellowship huddled together for warmth and comfort, lying on hand-sewn pillows over the strewn leaves. By mid-night, only Aragorn and Legolas stayed awake.

Aragorn stared somberly towards the upright back of his friend. How did Legolas not crumple like Aragorn and the rest? How did he not _mourn?_ Ridgidly, the elf turned from where he had been standing-carefully poised to climb one of the massive trees-and faced his friend.

Legolas leaned his head to the side, his expression mostly stoic, aside from his eyes. _Those eyes, _Aragorn thought to himself in alarm. Something far deeper than the mourning that Aragorn knew blossomed from the very depths of this elf and brimmed out through the eyes. It was as if every emotion that the elf had ever experienced had been buried somewhere deep inside, and the uncertainty and sheer horror of Gandalf's absence had delved them from the Elf. And now, each one, each emotion of each day and week and month and year and millennia that had rarely come to the surface shone brilliantly through the elf's watery eyes.

Legolas spoke in a voice hoarse despite himself, quickly closing his eyes and averting his gaze from his stunned friend. "Hiro hon hidh ab 'wanath," [May he find peace after death] murmured the elf gently, laying his slender palm over his tunic where his heart lay. Slowly, respectfully, he lay his hand palm up as he swept it excruciatingly slowly outwards. 

Aragorn allowed his eyes, still widened from the shock of the absolute horror, anguish in Legolas' eyes, to crease, his gaze falling to the ground. "Andeli I ven, Legolas," [This road is too dangerous, Legolas.] Aragorn breathed, ghosting his fingertips underneath his own eyes, before letting his hand drop over his whiskered chin.

"_Where is he, Aragorn?" _Legolas hissed urgently, eyes still on the ground, the edge in his voice like the sting of a knife. Legolas stared at Aragorn, bewildered, unable to allow himself to cry-"_Where is Gandalf?" _Though he knew the words sounded more than infantine, amateurish, especially for a warrior, Legolas cared not.

Aragorn shook his head slowly, laying a calloused hand on Legolas' flawless cheek. Gently, he slid a thumb underneath Legolas' chin, coaxed the elf's face into line with Aragorn's. Legolas tried to lean away from the friendly touch, his eyes wavering with tears. "I don't know the answer to that, _mellon," _Aragorn replied gently, speaking as if to a young child. 

Legolas tore away from his friend, turning swiftly. Again, the elf hunched his shoulders forward, clasping his smooth palms over his face. "_A Elbereth," _Legolas breathed into his palms, resting his brow against the chaffing "_Gaul, Gaul lothron amin?" [How, how could I?_] he whispered violently to himself.

"You did nothing, _mellon,_" Aragorn snapped immediately. "It was not your fault, nor mine-or the fault of any one in this fellowship that Gandalf fell," Aragorn snapped. Legolas shook his head, raising it an inch before hitting it again on the tree. 

"_I failed him," _Legolas whispered too silently for Aragorn to catch.

Where was Gandalf? 

***

Legolas lay, in a surprisingly rounded crescent in the joint of a knobby branch and the trunk of the mammoth tree. His cheek rested against the rough bark, eyes dropped shut. Translucent tears caught in the tangles of lashes, but didn't from their suspension there. Slowly, Legolas curled an arm over his head, gently stroking along the tangled patterns woven into the tree's trunk. 

Aragorn had seen Legolas like that when the fellowship had stirred first thing in the morning, used to rising with the sun. Now, midday, Legolas still huddled in the tree, unmoving aside the occasional melodiously bitter whisper in elvish, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"Crazy elf," Gimli groaned to himself, drawing himself beside Aragorn. Delicately, Gimli rested his hands on his axe, propping himself into a squared uprightness. "He has to eat, at least-I haven't seen him touch our food since _Moria," _said the dwarf pointedly. "I can see each of his ribs, the lad needs food." 

Aragorn shook his head grimly, looking down his shoulder at the dwarf. The robust Dwarf had tilted his head back, staring in what was almost concern towards the elf. "_Elf! Come down from there!" _the dwarf called gruffly upwards. Legolas, surprisingly, was stirred from his stupor, dazedly turning his gaze towards Gimli.

Gently, Legolas drifted his fingertips over his eyelashes, ridding them of the unseen tears. "Yes," he murmured to himself, forgetting the dwarf's less keen hearing. Slowly, the elf swung round so his legs dangled precariously stories above the dwarf and elf. Without hesitation, the elf sprang downwards, catching himself on a lower branch, and quickly scaled the rest of the distance.

***

It was the middle of the next night, bathing in one of the many mystical Lothlorien pools, that Legolas came to a conclusion about Gandalf. He had been basking in the waters for hours, immune to the said-to-be wintry water, and instead basking in the feel of something aside from his tunic rubbing over his bare skin. When last had he had time to relax and bathe?

The trees all round had whispered their own solaces to the Greenleaf, and without warning it dawned. Gandalf, he knew, was dead, was absent, but aside from that there was no certainty. Until a sudden moment of horrible clarity.

_He was not coming back._

 Legolas smiled mirthlessly to himself, dragging his nails along the curve of his chest without thinking about it, not realising the nailbites that now adorned his flawless figure. It was nothing to be proud of, certainly, for the hobbits had deduced this conclusion what seemed like years before. But Legolas _got it, _now. Death wasn't a location, or a time, it was an unbreakable prison.

_And Gandalf was not coming back._

***

A/N: Oh, bloody friggin' hell. I'm incredibly sorry for that rubbish chapter, and I hope you all still keep on reading all despite. I know that you all must be incredibly tired of Legolas bitching and moaning in his brain and you getting to learn ALL ABOUT IT. I promise to make this story more interesting…I really really really do…Thank you all for standing by me while I wrote this, though. You guys keep me alive =^^=

In response to your reviews;  
  


Evil Spapple Pie: Tell the truth, I've only a very vague idea of where this story is leading. I've two different ideas, which I'm going to ask everybody to vote on next chapter…I'm not sure what an ice weasel is LOL it's something from a Matt Groening quote I read.

Leeloo: Thank you so much for your review! And your English isn't that bad LOL, I still (obviously) understood it! I guess I continued…I hope you enjoyed!

Mouse: Blah…I thought I had Legolas incredibly OOC, probably just because I see him as this Mary-Sue creature (drool) Australian dollars, sounds good! I don't have any of those…Just a note to everybody out there who wants to send me bribes, I accept both Orlando Blooms-well, especially-and every kind of money =^^= LOL

Anduin: Blah…I thought it was horrible, I guess I'll rewrite when I'm over. Glad you've read worse though, LOL I have something to aspire for =^^=

Kat Heiman: LOL Glad it's not lead itself…Erm, I mean I haven't lead it too far astray. And glad you enjoy! Thanks so much for your review, enjoy chapter five when it comes along!

Tithen Min: No, seriously, I didn't have that mmmmmmmmmmmmuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhh *vibrates* LOL Sorry about the Priscilla thing, I bet it was horrible to watch Elrond blab about fiery chasms whence things came when you were picturing him in a green frock or what not. I'm glad the last chapter wasn't horrible in your eyes LOL. YAY! EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!!!1

Bobo: LOL CONGRADULATION on your math homework. And thanks for your review…I'll email you after I put this chapter up, I think…if I can find the time LOL

Legolas' Lover (no way-Orli's mine): Aaah! No!!! Well…At least I have Legolas, even though Orli is equally high on the orgasmic-drooling-conniptions scale LOL Glad you're too lazy to send me hate letters, because I really don't like them as much as I implied. My foot is twitching right now…is that normal? 

Celestra: LOL Actually the hamster business was kind of funny, because she ate nachos out of the microwave right after (she didn't know what had occurred) and thought they tasted queer…Hammy flavoured chips, lovely. IT BLINKS! *CLINGS* Still haven't fixed my scanner :'(

Kasandra: Oh dear, that bad? *looks around worriedly*

**ATTENTION: ATTENTION: ATTENTION: ***cough* Ok, would it be absolutely sacrilegious to set one of the later chapters to a song? Like songfic chapter? I adore them, but am scared of writing them incase they are too distracting or whatever.


	5. Memories of Mirkwood

Under the Morning Moon

Chapter Five

Memories of Mirkwood 

***

A/N: Oh _bollocks. _Sorry. I haven't updated in about a month and a half, hey? I feel very terrible. I'm having some serious issues writing this story (i.e Writers Block to an extreme degree). So, if this chapter is too pretensions, or not enough, or too long, or too short, you can blame this solely on the BLOCK! THE BLOCK PEOPLE! *cough* Yes…Any way, I was boring my with all of this Legolas-thinking-about-himself-without-even-having-any-Aragorn-fantasies (ahem).

I have another short note, mostly of extreme surprise. Sam's kid marries Pippin's kid? How did I not catch this when I read the books? My brain is having some serious spasms trying to latch on to this concept. And HOW many kids did Sam have!? Bloody _hell! _Just so he could name them after all of his LoTR Mates? "Oh dear, Rosie, I'd forgotten Frodo, better have another one." …How come nobody named their spawn after Boromir? I mean, sure, Faramir's much sexier, but Boromir was _really _nice to Merry and Pippin, and come on, he _died! _Get your act together, Pippin! HAVE A KID NAMED BOROMIR!

Aside from that spaz there I've got nothing much to say about this chapter. As always, flashbacks are in italics. Enjoy!

*** 

Sleep came much easier in 'Lorien than it ever had during their trek. Aragorn found himself completely at home amidst the tangles of gnarled branches, comfortably nestled in the crook of two spindly roots. Though, of course, his heart wept for Gandalf, he couldn't contain his enthusiasm at finally being able to sleep the night through, not having to be stirred to take watch.

Eyes drooping from the humbling scents of interlaced Jasmine and smoke, common to 'Lorien, Aragorn vaguely listened to Legolas' trembling words as they rose along with the distant mourning elves. Legolas' voice was fair, of course, like most of his kin, but there was a raw note to it. A certain hoarseness that drew from deep within the soul of the elf, escaping with each rising note-sadness too unworldly for Aragorn to describe.

"_A Olorin I yaresse," _Legolas began. He sat cross-legged, resting comfortably on one of the stretched boughs of a colossal tree. Had he wished, he would be able to sweep his gaze around the entire radius of the Fellowship's campsite, and would have been able to see the four hobbits crumpled together immersed in hoarse whispers. He could have seen Gimli and Boromir, grave, squared, and proud as they spoke in hoarse voices. And he could have seen Aragorn, at home at the base of the tree as much as Legolas was within it. But instead, Legolas had dropped his eyelids shut, filling his mind instead with memories.

Somewhere in his mind, the kaleidoscope of pictures, shifting, falling, mostly of _Mithrandir _when Legolas had been much younger, new pictures began to form. Of course, they were not knew, but ones he had not bothered to draw to the surface for an age. Lips still forming each word to the bitter lament, the trembling elf remembered _home._

~*~

_Mirkwood was beautiful, a massive expanse of trees even more tightly knit than those in the woods of Lothlorien. As a young adult, no more than five decades in the reckonings of Man, Legolas' would constantly find himself drawn away from his cavernous home to luxuriously sprawl on the banks of _The Great River, _eyes set on the tooth-like summits of the Misty Mountains._

When given the chance to escape from the strict grasp of his Father's kingdom, Legolas would aimlessly lead his way through the trees, marveling at the sheer-yet still climbable-height of each one. Each tree had a story, he discovered, and patiently went from each tree to the next, learning all about each one. He knew Mirkwood and all, within it, that dwelled as well as he (thought) he knew himself.

When he was no more than a century of age, an adult by Elf Standards yet still sporting the visage of an adolescent, his lessons began. He was restricted to the halls of his home in the Mountains of Mirkwood, barred from leaving the stone-hewn library where Chyra-his eldest brother-taught him the ways of the world outside. By the time he was a century and a half old, Legolas hadn't been outside in more than twenty-five years, and was nearly mad because of it. 

Every day he was awakened by the harsh rap of his father's knuckles on the mahogany of his chamber door. Swifter than the day before-it appeared his strict training was taking effect-he would stand, dress, and follow his father down the systematically plotted steps. Breakfast, archery in the cellar, lunch, lessons from Chyra, and from Marm D'lasie…

"Father," Legolas had said gently, at breakfast one day. He had managed to suppress the insanity that he thought threatened to grab his years of training from his grasp. Annoyed, Thranduil looked up from the script he was poring over, and stared accusingly at his son. "I was wondering, as my lessons seem to go so well…Could I perhaps leave this Palace, at least once and a while? I crave the outside air, more than you know."

Thranduil had denied him. "You are not deserving of a home anywhere but this mountain, Legolas. It is folly for you to believe you are anything but a Prince-and my Servant. And I am not Father, you insolent child-I am Lord. Remember that," Thranduil didn't even bother sounding angry with his son's ignorance any more, just stoic, devoid of anything that resembled emotion.

Taken aback, Legolas nodded. Since his mother had died, Legolas and his father had constantly drifted apart, until now they were separated-though of course only by a few paces at most hours of the day-what seemed like an endless expanse of infinitely deep ocean.

Legolas curtly excused himself, and barely managed to force himself from the spacious dining hall before crumpling against one of the cloven doors, nestling against the wood and feverishly grabbing at his robes, weeping tearlessly into his knees.

***

With a start, Aragorn glanced about, worried. He had almost forgotten about Legolas' presence, countless meters above in a tree, until the Elf stopped singing. Aragorn tilted his head back, immediately catching the pale-clad Elf caught in the limbs of the tree, eyes shut.

"Ai, Legolas," Aragorn called gently, knowing Legolas' acute hearing would pick up the call. Legolas shuddered out of what looked deeper than a coma, and looked over his shoulder down at Aragorn. "Legolas, what ails you?"

Legolas shook his head, before gently sliding off the branch where he stood. In movements to rapid and graceful for Aragorn to clock, the elf disappeared from where he stood. Moments later, he landed nimbly before Aragorn, brow furrowed, head quirked.

"Mirkwood," the elf replied tenderly. "I fear that Gandalf's passing will come as horrible news to my father's realm." Sadly, Legolas replaced a strand of hair behind a sensitive ear, and let out a weary breath. "I wish fate had dealt her cards differently. Gandalf seemed more important to this fellowship than I-why couldn't my body be the one falling with the Balrog, instead of his?"

Aragorn stared at the Elf in disbelief. That was practically a proclamation of suicide, to the Ranger's mind. And yet there stood the Elf, upright as he hadn't been in weeks, hair deftly held back in braids, his words spoken with truth and conviction. Without hesitation, Aragorn lifted a hand, and struck the unsuspecting elf across one cheek with his palm.

Legolas barely flinched, lifting a palm to his cheek. He furrowed his brow, no accusations in his eyes, but definite hurt. "Rhiw," Legolas breathed, using his pseudonym for the man. Harshly, Aragorn forced the Elf's slight shoulders into his hand, but kept himself from shaking the elf senseless.

"Don't say that! Ever! Legolas, you are as important to this fellowship as any of us, as all of us! More so-you are our eyes, and our ears, and our light! It is tragic that Gandalf fell, I don't deny this-but never, ever question yourself. He would not have it!" As the words fell in a whisper from his lips, Aragorn knew they made no sense, didn't fit together, but were needed to be spoken. Legolas tilted his chin up, looking with firm resolve into Aragorn's eyes.

"Elbereth," Legolas said lightly to himself, and disengaged himself from the strong hands. He took a step back, and looked at the ground. "You are a good leader, Aragorn, as Gandalf was. I apologize," he said meekly, though not finding the courage to face Aragorn. Swiftly, he turned, and blended expertly with the curled paths and foliage.

~*~

"Legolas?" came a tiny voice. The Elf tensed, turning his head, to find little Pippin Took standing with his hands in his pockets, no longer his rambunctious self. Legolas smiled softly, trying to convey all the hope and happiness he had still in him into this smallest of gestures.

"Pippin," Legolas replied compassionately. "Yes?"

"I was wondering," Pippin said. Quickly, he gestured towards the other hobbits, who looked up with soft nods. "Well, we were wondering. Could you teach us the words to the elves' ballad?"

Legolas hesitated. It was odd, this request, for rarely did any but the elves get the privilege to speak this language. Slowly, Legolas nodded. "Of course. It is not that hard," he added. He allowed himself to be lead over to the hobbits.

Aragorn watched with sullen eyes, fingering the raven tresses of his hair. It seemed to him that Legolas would be much better a leader to the fellowship than ever he could be.

***

A/N: That's it. It's official. I really don't like writing Movie-Verses. There's too much to remember, too much to keep consistent. I'm trying to think of an excuse to bail out on this plot and make it the time after the fellowship… Any suggestions?

In response to your reviews:

Fairlady: *giggle* Thanks! And thanks for your review. I'm glad you liked Meetings, and I hope you liked this chapter…and like whatever I end up writing next. =^^=

Silverkonekotsukari: Yeah…After one of my closest friends died that's basically how I reacted. The Purple Penguins are my friends, and they speak truthfully! I was talking to them the other day, and I was all "The meek will inherit the eath," and the penguins were like, "You aren't meek," so then I shot them. LOL I like that peace phrase there…Give Peace a Fighting Chance! *peace sign* LOL Thanks for your entertaining review! =^^=

Bobo: I want a tree that I can talk to! Well, not that I don't have one, but none of mine talk back. Rather depressing. I've narrowed the songchap to like eight thousand different songs! Go me! =^^=

Evil Spapple Pie: Less introspection in this chapter, more just flashbacks. I agree with your review =^^=. Sorry about school starting, and that my fic just made it worse…Sigh. Thanks for your vote =^^=

Tithen Min: LOL Action's a lot more fun for me to write-even though I'm apparently crap at it. Ho hum…I can't figure out where to lead this story, because there's three different plot lines I can take.

Legolas' Lover: Have you seen Black Hawk Down? Orly is très sexy-sort of distracting though because I spent half the movie screaming at him. The people I was watching it with got rather angry. LOL My foot was apparently twitching cause it wasn't getting enough blood, and I need to stop sitting on it…What an annoying world. LOL =^^= Thanks for your review!

Celestra: I wonder if I could *market* Hamster-Flavoured Nachos. I can't think of any effective slogans, though…I could call them Nelly's (My hamster's name, yes, was Nelly) and be like… "Now you can taste my dear sweet Nelly and then keep her home in your Belly!" LOL Sorry that I probably ran your patience dry…I'm so horrible at updating well.

The Wanderer: Well, Legolas has got what we call "issues"…LOL No, he's just dealing with more flashbacks. My writing style has some serious holes in it, methinks. No matter. Thanks for your review! =^^=

Lissa: LOL Dunno how much of a difference a songfic chapter would make…Some people just don't like them, I guess.

ElvenMaid: *smile* Thanks! Hope you enjoy everything that follows…Yay!

Allora Gale: Hope you liked it. And I WILL REVIEW YOUR STORY! LOL I *PROMISE*.


	6. Aragorn's Son

Under the Morning Moon  
  
  
  
Chapter Six: Aragorn's Son  
  
***  
  
A/N: Long author's note spaz happening here, because I'm *very* confused about something. I'll cover that in the next paragraph. First, about this chapter; it's finally up (wild cheers from alternate personalities)! I've led it severely astray from where it was, simply because though I now have a transcript for FoTR, it's extremely difficult for me to incorporate the movie into a story I can fluently right. Thusly, this chapter is set about a year after the end of the Quest.  
  
As always, answers to reviews at the end of the chapters.  
  
Here's the Tolkien-related spaz. The last one I had was about children, incl. the lack of Boromir Gardener, which still really rather bothers me. This time, It's Aragorn's bloody age. I was reading the Appendices because, frankly, I'm me, and I found out he was born the first of March 2931, which is all well and good, I suppose. But, then I read a bit further, did some investigating, but the War of the Ring starts in 3018. Sorry if I'm being thick, but since when is Aragorn 89?! I thought he was 38 when he claimed the throne, but he was really like.90-something. And then, Aragorn goes and dies in 120 of the Fourth Age, merely 21..2. Are life-spans just longer for M.E inhabitants, particularly the brooding ranger variety, or is Aragorn elven in some way? Clarification on this matter would be *great* =^^=  
  
(Just as another bizarre note, in accordance to the appendices, Aragorn is older than Theoden. How wrong is *that*?)  
  
Anyway, try and enjoy this chapter despite how disgruntling Aragorn's age is. LOL! =^^=  
  
***  
  
Aragorn resided, as he always did when in his throne chambers, in a stony silence. The commoners that milled about the room, heads respectfully bowed, barely looked up as Legolas slid soundlessly in from a side room. Aragorn, despite himself, started, and glanced over at the elf with playfully narrowed eyes. The elf waited for a gap in the queue of peasants and lords who eagerly approached the king for council, before stepping over.  
  
"Having fun, M'lord?" Legolas said gently in Sindarian, taking his accustomed, respectful place at the right-hand of his old friend. Sitting Ridgidly in his ornate throne, raised on a platform of priceless Marble, Aragorn seemed to tower over the lithe form of his blonde friend.  
  
Though Legolas had spent the first two years after the War of the Ring scouring the endless beauty of Middle Earth with a troupe of Gimli's closest (dwarven) companions, he now resided in Minas Tirith, the great Watchtower of Gondor, with his oldest friend. Upon Legolas' return to Gondor, Aragorn immediately drew the elf aside and asked if he would like to become his 'Advisor in Chief'. Using the title as an excuse to not have to return to his home in Mirkwood, Legolas eagerly accepted, and now had resided with the King and his tiny family for four years.  
  
When Legolas had officially taken up residence in the Great Tower, Arwen had just begat her first child-Eldarion, now three and a quarter, was closer to a son to Legolas than the elf previously would have thought possible. It seemed that the milling of children, now two in number, around the Elf had softened his stoic resolve-something that Aragorn rarely hesitated in noting.  
  
Aragorn looked down his shoulder to the Elf, and arched a brow, catching on to the underlying notes of teasing underneath the Elf's calm voice. "More than you know," he replied easily, falling into Elvish as though it were his first tongue. Legolas mirrored the King's expression, a neat stroke of eyebrow rising into an arc over his eye, before he chuckled gently, and shook his head. Quickly as he had come, he slid out of the side door, and back into the castle.  
  
~*~  
  
When finally Aragorn managed to escape bombardment of pleas from his people, twilight had overtaken the beautiful sky of his land. His first daughter, and second child-lovingly honed Gilraen after Aragorn's own, obscure mother-was already fed and asleep in her overly ornate chambers. Arwen and Legolas, as was their routine, were talking in delicate elvish whispers while nursing goblets of pale wine in Aragorn's common room, Eldarion comfortably nestled into the crook of the archer's arm.  
  
Aragorn shrugged, defeated, into the chambers where his wife and friend were in hushed conversation, and tousled his hair with his left hand. "I need a new job," he said miserably. Arwen tilted her head sympathetically to the side, while Legolas lazily drew patterns over Eldarion's raven hair with a gentle fingertip.  
  
"Oh, but you're so good at this one," Arwen insisted playfully, sweeping a strand of black hair impatiently out of her eyes. She rose without shifting positions on the chesterfield, and was at Aragorn's side faster than his eyes could catch-though his senses were considerably dulled by the absolute boredom suffered at the hands of the endless subjects.  
  
Aragorn tilted his head over, resting it on the top of his wife's, and observed his friend and son in the chair with mild interest for a few moments. "Is there anything left to eat? I'm afraid that the random complaints of a thousand Gondorians leaves very little room for meals," the King said with a sigh. Legolas chuckled from deep in his throat, not even looking up.  
  
"Oh, stop laughing, you.fanatic," Aragorn snapped, though playfully, griping unprofessionally for a suitable insult. In his sleep, Eldarion whimpered lightly, and rolled to the side. He nuzzled quietly into the green of Legolas' tunic, and clung wildly at it, tiny fists balled so tightly that the pallor of his knuckles was magnified to an almost white. Legolas' face, a minute ago observing Aragorn with a look of feigned horror and offense, visibly melted. He cast his eyes downwards, almost wavering with tears, and loopily draped his arms around the small form in his lap. Tenderly, he rose, rearranging his arm so that the tense child he held could rest comfortably half in the crook of his elbow, then unceremoniously swept out of the room to place the now-sleeping infant in his rooms.  
  
Aragorn grinned, despite himself. "Who needs a nanny when you've got the Warrior Prince of Mirkwood?" he said, half to Arwen, though loud enough for the Archer to hear. For a moment, Aragorn wondered if the elf hadn't heard, watching as the Archer disappeared into Eldarion's room, and the King allowed himself to look with a small grin to his wife.  
  
Of course, his attention averted, he was hit squarely between the eyes with what he saw dazedly through blurry eyes as he lay moments later in a heap on the floor was one of his son's many toy blocks, lying on the floor along with the feet of his wife and friend. And, as one, they both laughed at Aragorn-and for a moment it was as if he were Strider, not King Elessar Telcontar, but an untouchable ranger, an elusive being that belonged to the earth and didn't have to wake up in the morning and bear the burdens of a thousand voices scolding one another and desperately asking for the council of their clueless king.  
  
~*~  
  
The moon, as always, rose swiftly, and darkness crept over the country so quickly that the failing half-light of when Aragorn retired for the night was replaced by the sea-dark navy of the star-specked night in a matter of minutes. Sitting upright, cross-legged on his window-seat, Legolas regarded the sky with calm pleasure, head cocked for a better view.  
  
The constellations played across the sky like scattered diamonds or pearls, seeming once random in appearance to the unlearned eyes of a young Legolas. Now, the Advisor-In-Chief of the strongest King of the history of Gondor, he was much wiser than he had been, and could distinctly make out the meaningful shapes of the assemblage of stars, the distinct pictures that Valar had drawn in iridescent pointillism over the dark canvas of the night sky.  
  
Without realising he did so, Legolas draped a hand across the upswept knob of the window, and turned it, relishing the feel of the warm almost- summer air over his face as it rushed in through the space now exposed. The tingle of stardust over his skin made Legolas shudder, just slightly, in delight. Though, deep down, he missed traveling the countryside, being able to sleep on the ground (or, more likely, a tree-just to annoy Gimli) if he so desired, he also knew that this was much, much better.  
  
The Elf had decided to return to Gondor only to congratulate Arwen on the birth of her first child. But, when Arwen insistently offered the tiny living bundle of her firstborn wrapped in gold blankets to her husbands brother-in-heart, the elf knew that he had to stay in Gondor. He felt immediate affection-hell, love-for the wrinkled, ruddy-faced creature that quivered in his nervous grasp.  
  
"Rhîw-Lothegion," Legolas had sighed, smiling at the inquisitive eye that spread open, looked at Legolas with some interest, before falling once again shut. "Beleger," he added thoughtfully. Mighty one.  
  
Legolas shuddered out of his stupor when a particularly cold blast of air swelled over him. Distressed, he opened his eyes-he hadn't even remembered closing them-and looked around with a knit brow. Had he opened the window that much? He half-turned, and delicately drew the window closed, before standing and looking around. Something was wrong.  
  
His eyes swept over the tile of the floor around his feet, noticing the crumple of fabric from his torn-off curtains, and smudges over the shale tiles in dark gray. "Footprints," Legolas said aloud in horror. His hand fled to his belt, immediately unsheathing his long knife, and he held it sturdily in front of him, head whipping to the side. There were few places to hide in his chamber, but whoever now was within escaped even the keen eyes of the archer.  
  
The warm of human flesh caught him around the shoulders, and, numb with shock, he dropped his knife, struggling against the thick arm that now lay under his neck. With cold horror he felt a dead weight collapse deliberately onto his brow, and no matter how hard he struggled against the blackness he was still engulfed by it.  
  
He hadn't even had the chance to call out.  
  
~*~  
  
The next morning, clad in the characteristic garb of his people- including a tunic with an ornate Gondorian tree sewn into his chest with the finest of golden beads-the King was stopped on his way to the chambers by a lad called Trojan, new as a guard, yet immensely respected by the King. Aragorn offered a smile to the twenty-something year old, but it immediately faded when he clearly saw Trojan's appearance. The normally sturdy boy was twitching with apprehension, flushed and then ashen, unable to stop jerking unsteadily.  
  
"What is it, my boy?" Aragorn said, suppressing the nervousness in his voice.  
  
"It is Legolas, my Lord," said Trojan, his voice octaves higher than usual, an almost-wail. "He is missing."  
  
***  
  
A/N.Hope that wasn't as horrible as it seemed. I PROMISE that this will bet more torturous.erm, I mean, better, in the next few chapters. Now that I cheated out of a shameful movie-cannon, I can safely write without the distraction of rules. Well, aside from the fact that Aragorn's like six bloody hundred years old.Sigh. =^^=  
  
[1] I wasn't too sure where Aragorn ended up residing, so he's in Minas Tirith now. I was going to make him live in a restored Osgilliath, but that'd probably be more AU than I want. Sorry if I got this information wrong. =^^=  
  
Thank you *SO* much for all of your reviews. I'm so amazed that you guys have stuck with me through this fic, even though I'm horrible at updating in time, and my plot bunnies are actually all just mice with paper ears on and all have brain problems (admit it, you aren't *that* shocked.)  
  
More personal thanks;  
  
Reginabean: Well, I took your idea for a flashback-sort of. The first five chapters will come into play in the future ones, I *promise*. Else I sort of just wasted a whole bunch of your time. I haven't even heard of Dallas! But it sounds odd that an entire season was a dream. I'd be majorly P.Oed at those writers. Thanks for your review! =^^=  
  
Legolas' Lover: Don't worry, I won't tell anybody that YOU HAVEN'T SEEN BLACK HAWK DOWN. Damn. I want to see Calcium Kid soooooooooooooooooo badly.He takes off his shirt! (drool bucket break). And your Elvish Name is lovely =^^=  
  
Allora Gale: LOL! Don't worry, I will review.eventually. Aheh. I think I'm over my writer's block (Yay!).How about you? Do you want to borrow some of my fake-plot-bunnies-that-are-actually-mice-with-brain-damage? *holds one up by the tail* *it bursts in to flame* .(miserable sigh)  
  
Evil Spapple Pie: I *sort of* found an AU path, but. Not. Really. I'm so glad to get out of all that bloody emotional rubbish-sorry, I'm really glad I don't have to write any more of that. LOL I know it probably wasn't too fun to read. Anyway, thanks for your review! I hope you read this chapter ;)  
  
WeasleyTwinsLover1112: Tee-hee! Thank you for reviewing even though it was 4:38AM when you did! .like, a month ago. Sigh, I really need to update faster.  
  
Celestra: God.You update so much faster than me! Did you notice the like six month time gap in between these two chapters? If you updated half as fast as me it would still be an eternity between updates! I'm trying to design a chip-bag for the Hamster chips, just 'cause I have math class in the morning, and nothing better to do. I can't *wait* to get my scanner up LOL Thank you so much for your review! (did you get the one I sent in for your poem-I'm still miffed by that. The poem, I mean.)  
  
FairyLady: Heeheehee.Legolas is sweet!!!! ..resist urge to dirtiness..pg-13 PG-13!!!!!! Sorry about that =^^= Glad you enjoyed! So sorry about writing so bloody slowly, hope you don't hate me forever!  
  
Tithen Min: Don't hit yourself with your keyboard! It makes the space barstickIcan hardly getmine to work any more. Sigh. LOL I won't argue with you, don't worry.Your stubbornness is much better than mine. But in a good way =^^= And what do you *mean* not too much coffee? I'm confused by the concept.too..much.coffee?  
  
The Wanderer: .a chapter comes, and goes, and then there is a few months of interval.and a new chapter! I hope you liked it (if you read it)! And I hope that I was subtle enough when I strayed from the movie-verse.(random person: SUBTLE LIKE A VASECTOMY!) Sigh. Bobo: Glad you didn't cry, and I'm surprised you didn't email me to tell me to update soon. I'd have emailed me to tell me to update soon.LOL I feel horrible about that large interval. Enjoy! And thanks! =^^=  
  
Elentari Manwe: I updated! Again! *gives self prize* Hehehe.Thanks! And I hope you enjoyed this!  
  
ElvenMaid: I'm glad you like it.I hope I can make it get better in upcoming chapters. You know who else is undiscovered sexy? Celeborn. LOL Anyway.Hope you enjoyed! 


	7. A Ranger, Again

Under the Morning Moon  
  
Chapter Seven: Ranger, Again  
  
***  
  
Trojan, the young guard of King Elessar's Palace, was not the most learned of lads he knew. Though, of course, he possessed the capabilities of common sense that came hand-in-hand with being a mighty combatant, he was not strong in the fields of astronomy, or of history. It was with pure luck he recalled the knowledge of his father-who had been smart-at the exact moment he pronounced the former words to his king. "The bearer of evil tidings is always the first available to question when the news is given; if you ever have to give evil tidings be sure you are not around for the aftermath."  
  
Nodding respectfully, Trojan ducked away from his King, who stood upright with eyes wide in shock. Missing? Surely the lad had made an error. Or, perhaps, Legolas had stolen away in the night for a walk. But he had done that countless times before, and was never reported missing. What was it about this time that struck the guards as so different than the other times Legolas hadn't been in his rooms in the morning that they would have to actually label the situation?  
  
Aragorn's feet found their way across the corridor dividing the chambers where his family dwelt, swept mindlessly up the flights of stairs as he felt himself walking with more speed, adrenaline urging him forwards with almost desperation. By the time he was on the fifth floor-three above where he swept, he had begun to sprint as he hadn't since the days of the Ring, blindly hurtling through the corridors. On the eighth floor, where Legolas' chambers lay, he skittered to a lurching halt, and practically threw himself against the mahogany of Legolas' chamber door.  
  
Elessar Telcontar transformed, then. His eyes merged with the room, blended with his surroundings as he easily picked up each minute detail of the struggle that had ensued. While the Elf sat, unmoving, meditating perhaps, a heavy being had stole soundlessly through the window, and had hidden behind a canvas dressing blind until the elf had stepped into view. Then, the antagonist had sprung forward and in one motion caught Legolas in his arms, most likely cutting off any way for the elf to make a noise-else he would have, and Aragorn had heard none.  
  
Something lay broken on the ground, shattered stone of the purest obsidian fletched with dark green. Narrowing his eyes, and warily taking a step forward, Aragorn could see that it was one of the many soapstone sculptures that Legolas had made in the solitude of his chambers when he was not otherwise occupied; hair clung, matted, to sodden blood stroked over the bottom of the now-broken idol, and Aragorn assumed that it had been used to strike the elf unconscious. The heels of Legolas' shoes had scuffed the floor from the spot where the statue lay to the windowseat, indicating that he had been dragged by the larger man. Aragorn rushed over to the still-open window and thrust his head into the warm air, noticing the coil of rope that lay forgotten at the foot of the tower, and the jumble of footprints. A man, who trod heavily due to the extra burden of a particular archer, had met up with another man at the foot of the tower, and the three had then left on two horses.  
  
Dejectedly, Aragorn gathered up the broken statue from the floor, and held it against his breast as he stepped back out into the corridor. Arwen, who had been looking for her husband, rushed over and enveloped him in her slender arms. "I heard," she breathed, and buried her head into the crook of his neck. Pocketing the broken emblem, Aragorn wrapped his arms about the slight waist of his femme, and sank down to the ground with her, quivering with shock. You'll be a ranger yet, thought a dull voice at the back of his mind.  
  
~*~  
  
There had been a sheet of red hazing Legolas' vision, red that hung like a veil before his eyes and obscured the entire world with its bloody existence. The elf dismissed any possibilities or rubbing his eyes free of this unknown enemy-the moment he had awoken he had felt the coarse friction of hemp about his wrists and knew he was bound. He was also being tightly held around the chest by a burly arm, hunched forward on a gray horse that frantically galloped behind another that Legolas could hear, but not see.  
  
Suddenly, a gruff voice behind Legolas-the voice that owned the arm that held him-called out. Legolas felt the distinct jerk of the man's body as he pulled at the reins of his ride, who whinnied and stopped, twisting to the side slightly. The horse tossed her head, sad hazel eyes regarding the two on her back quickly before looking towards the other horse.  
  
"Scalath!" hissed a voice urgently, from the horse ahead. "We've arrived-is he awake?" Legolas allowed his eyes to glass, as though clouded by cataracts, obscuring his view of the world around even more than the bloody hue did.  
  
How badly am I hurt? Legolas wondered. There was a thunderous pulsation, nonstoping and rhythmic, at the back of his head, most likely caused by the head injury that reddened his vision. Aside from that, he was unhurt-his wrists and ankles were chaffed by the rough ropes, but that would heal quickly.  
  
"He is not," Scalath replied in a bitter hiss that made Legolas feel cold, for some reason. Involuntarily, he shuddered, hopefully imperceptibly. The vague motion went unnoticed by his captors. Legolas was lifted brutally off the horse and slung around Scalath's shoulders like one might put a rug they wanted to throw away; proudly grinning the pair of kidnappers walked into the forest towards their hidden fortress.  
  
~*~  
  
Eldarion looked around the lunch room, then pawed gently at his mother's nose from where he sat in her lap. "Momma," he whimpered, and cocked his tiny head to the side. "Momma, where's Legl's?"  
  
"He's gone away, sweetheart," Arwen replied, coddling her son. Across from her, Gilraen's nanny Trisha looked up quickly before bowing her head back down to the child, murmuring something and offering Gilraen's stubborn lips a spoonful of something green and shapeless.  
  
"Where's Master Greenleaf gone?" Trisha asked in a voice she hoped could be casual. Gilraen turned her head to the side, her lips forming a distinct arc of unhappiness.  
  
"We don't know, Trisha," said Arwen delicately. Though Legolas had countless female worshippers who silently gaped at him from crowds when he allowed himself to be seen in them, Trisha was one who was particularly graced. She dwelt in his presence nearly daily, and her affection and lust for him had blossomed into something that the young lass thought to herself had to be love. She thought she did a good job of keeping her feelings obscured, but she always forgot that Arwen and Legolas were both of elven heritage and not that easy to fool.  
  
How long ago had it been when Arwen and Legolas had last spoken of Trisha's desperation for the blonde? Why, not more than three nights prior to the one where Legolas had nailed Aragorn with a counting block, Legolas and Arwen had been particularly immersed in their conversation. Legolas knew of how Trisha felt, and did not want to hurt the girl, but could not bring himself to like her as anything more than a skilled nanny. Arwen had told him that to feign affections so as to not hurt the feelings of the one who you feign them for is hurting yourself too gravely for it to be worth the sacrifice. Then, Aragorn had walked in, more distressed than usual. Legolas has poured him a goblet of dry red wine, and Arwen had begun to baby him like she was so used to doing. The topic dropped away, forgotten.  
  
"Oh.will he be back?" the nanny asked. Arwen stirred out of her trance of memories, and nodded slowly.  
  
"Oh, yes," Arwen consoled Trisha gently. "Undoubtedly." Lightly, Arwen now-Telcontar bounced her child mirthlessly on her knee, and smiled despite the desperate gnawing at her stomach when the child shrieked out in joy, clapping his hands together, his missing Father-of-Heart forgotten.  
  
~*~  
  
By morning of the following day, the two kidnappers and their blonde prize finally reached a structure that, though it blended with the forest, looked startlingly unnatural. It was massive, stone and wood, wreathed in thistle. The pair's footfalls became more cautious-they stopped laughing and instead fell into a stony silence that disheartened the elf.  
  
Earlier in the day, they had stopped to rest and given the elf a chance to nurse his head. The gash at the back was wide, but clotting. His hair was thick with blood at the back of his head, matted from where the head-wound had been bleeding more freely than it now did. Delicately, the elf ripped off the cuff of his leggings and fashioned a rough cover for the wound. Then, he frantically rubbed at his eyes to free them of the blood- red stain that had occupied his eyes.  
  
He could see without obscurities now the fortress in the forest of which the two antagonists had made light talk during the day. Carefully, the second of the two who called himself Urag'kl, walked alongside the rim of thistle, carefully judging the point where it thinned the most.  
  
"Here," he said gruffly, and easily jumped across the distance. Legolas next was forced across, followed by Scalath who held his elbows to prevent escape.  
  
"Why have you taken me?" Legolas asked for the first time, looking up at the sheer unwavering height of his new prison, at last feeling the gnawing gloom that threatened to consume him as, yet again, things took a turn for the worse.  
  
"Because you are the son of Thranduil," Urag'kl said easily, smiling at his own knowledge. Gravely, he pushed Legolas through a rough square archway into the threshold of the incarcerated city. Legolas glumly looked around at the gloom that was now his life, at the rough stone structures in which dwelt only more burly figures with rough knives. These are mountain men, Legolas realized with a start. He had heard stories of them, mostly of the kind that dwelt in huge stone fortresses atop the Misty Mountains. As a lad of no more than twenty he would continually try and convince his father that he had seen the folk, but of course never had.  
  
Now, here they were, the Mountain Men of Gondor who dwelt at the foot the mighty mountain Mindolluin, and they had an elf in their custody; what's more, the son of the elf that had brutally taken their lands and caused the slaughter of their women, their children. Of course, Legolas knew none of this, as the voices around him breathily cackled in mirth, and as calloused hands stroked along his bare arms and led him towards the underground of their prison.  
  
~*~  
  
Aragorn stood and marveled at himself in the full-length mirror that Arwen had set out for him. Not Aragorn, he mused, rubbing his fingertips over the coarse stubble he had allowed to grow over his chin and cheeks. "Strider," said he aloud, letting the name roll from his tongue as easily as it once did. "Strider."  
  
"Indeed you are, Old Friend," Faramir said. He tilted his head, offering the smallest uplift of his mouth, before laying a comforting hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "You will find your friend," he said vehemently.  
  
"Keep my family safe. They may not understand," Aragorn said firmly. Faramir nodded dismissively.  
  
"You know I'd give my life for them. Go!" Faramir said, firm and kind as was his nature. His hand dropped away, and he took a step back, looking over Aragorn in fascination. "You are my king, of course-but somehow more noble when not clad as such," he said in a voice more to himself than actually to Aragorn.  
  
Without answering, Aragorn swept out of the room, his cloak lifting behind him and trailing gray as he rushed out of his home.  
  
~*~  
  
It was cold. So cold. He couldn't help but shiver. Where did the cold come from? Stop. Stop quivering. You are weak. No. No. Not this. And so dark. Where are the stars? Where are the trees? Where am I?  
  
Who am I?  
  
So cold.  
  
***  
  
A/N: I *swear* It'll get good soon! I swear! Just..try and bear with me.  
  
No reviews to answer for Chapter Six! =v.v= (sad kitey). 


	8. Failure

Under the Morning Moon  
  
Chapter Eight: Failures  
  
~*~  
  
A/N: I've not been able to find ANYWHERE the years where specific Elves leave Middle Earth for the Gray Havens, aside From Legolas (after Aragorn dies). So, for the sake of this story, most of the Mirkwood Elves, evidently including our favourite Thranduil (yay!) and his kids are still lingering about. Sorry if this is Middle-Earth historically incorrect. Pretend this is AU if it is, and don't kill me! *hides* =^^=  
  
Also, Frodo seems to fall ill a lot after the end of the W.O.T.R; he has a very poor immune system. He should drink more water. Poor sod.  
  
This chapter takes place about nine days after when Legolas was captured. Aragorn.met up with Arwen's.easy.twin.hence his lateness?  
  
***  
  
The moon whispers to you; came a voice, from the back of the elf's mind. He stirred at the thought, turning his blank eyes upwards, casting his gaze brokenly over the stone bricks of his chambers. The moon calls, repeated the voice that Legolas faintly recognized as his own, yet somehow did not register he was speaking to himself. Again, he had broken into a cold sweat, shuddering against himself.  
  
Quietly, he drew his knees against his chest, and quivered gently, his fingers shaking as badly as they had so many years ago in Moria, during the Quest of the Ring. Desperate for some release, he clutched at the tattered fabric covering his calves, fisting it childishly. The elf hunched forward, burying his head into the crook between his knees, and rocking back and forth. So cold, he thought. Stop sweating.  
  
Every day they came, the robust men with crooked grins and heavy brows, bearing whips and chains and knives. They would catch the elf, who lost the will to fight more and more every day, by the wrists and drag him away from the corner of his cell where he lay in a blanket of sweat, murmuring to himself in a variety of languages-including Dwarfish, surprisingly- and pull him into the open.  
  
Their town was symmetric, and monochromatic, living on routine. Every morn, the town would rise with the sun, and go about their appointed tasks. The women, almost equal in stature and weight to their men, would work in the padlocked gardens or with the clunky animals. At precisely midday, they would gather in where Legolas assumed was the center of their unchanging town, and would watch as the elf was dragged out from their prison and pushed to where a sturdy paddock had been built for the sole purpose of their sadistic entertainment.  
  
The first time they had pulled him out of his dungeon, Legolas had seen with horror the cage in the plain open, the raised platform and squared wooden pillar to which he was chained. Looking dully around at the crowds that eagerly drew in to the spectacle, the elf noted with horror that among the watchers were children, some the age of his dear Eldarion that gripped at the wooden pickets of the paddock and cheered along with the rest as one of the men would walk forward, grinning, and lay his hands all over the delicate elf.  
  
The moon calls, Legolas reminded himself in the dark of his prison. There were no windows, not even a crack of light below the door of his cell, and so Legolas was in a square of utter darkness no matter what time of day it might be, trapped below the earth as he had been in Moria. Yet this was infinitely worse. He was going mad, he knew-he was shivering and speaking to himself in a hoarse voice.  
  
It does not call, he snapped, running the heel of his hand down the concave of his cheek, it is morn; there is no moon to call for me. Legolas pulled his head out of its rest in his knees, and tilted it back against the wall. He stared blankly ahead, stretching his feet in front of him. As of yet, the men who came to beat him daily had not done any serious damage. When any one of them got too carried away, a bearded man (that Legolas reckoned was the Mayor, of sorts) would immediately call it to a stop. They wanted the pleasure of being able to beat Thranduil's youngest son, while their family watched, to be a drawn out occasion.  
  
And none yet had touched him, not like Legolas remembered a captor had done to him-how long ago was it? Seven years, at least. No, he was still innocent to them, and for that he was thankful. It gave him something to hang on to, until he devised a plan for escape. Escape.How blissful it would be to be rid of the dark and the stone, to feel the moon on his skin and to hear the trees once again.  
  
Maybe the moon did call.  
  
He was no longer sweating.  
  
~*~  
  
Aragorn hesitated at the fork in the path, looking down each path as far as he could. Both paths, roughly hewn trails from where many traveling feet had trod, meandered difficultly through the forest. And the footfalls down each path were equal in number, fresh as each other, nearly impossible to distinguish from one another. For a week and a day, Aragorn had been tracking like he had loved so to do a decade before. The footprints were odd. Legolas' were easy to distinguish, for they were so light that untrained eyes wouldn't be able to perceive them amidst the tangle of grass. But the footprints of the two men that had taken him were unlike any footprints that Aragorn had ever seen on men.  
  
The men were heavy, and tall, he could tell from the length and the depth of the footprints. But their feet were also wide-toed, like a dwarf, and narrow at the bridge, like an Orc. Aragorn had only ever heard legend of Humans that were so close in characteristics with both the dwarfs and Orcs, dwellers of mountains. Mountain people. Supposedly, large hordes had dwelled at the base of the Misty Mountains before Thranduil learned of their existence, and demanded genocide over them (much, Aragorn thought, like Saruman had commanded over the people of Rohan). The Mountain folk had retreated to Gondor-but there was no proof of this story, and Aragorn had never seen any.  
  
He hoped with all his might that he never would, and was mistaken in his suspicions of Legolas' captors. If they knew that Legolas was the son of the one who had commanded death on their people.Aragorn shook his head violently, and fell to his knees before the jumbled tracks. With his forefinger, he gently traced the contour of a footprint. With new determination, he stood, and took the path arching towards the east.  
  
~*~  
  
Trisha sat deep in concentration. Gilraen had fallen asleep about an hour before, and Trisha was free to spend the rest of her evening milling about. As luck would have it, on the way to the Library, she ran in to Arwen. The Evenstar looked frazzled; continuously dragging her fingertips down her cheek, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. She even started when Trisha greeted her-actually was surprised by the appearance of the young girl, who was by no means sneaky.  
  
"What is wrong, my lady?" Trisha asked, polite and curious. Arwen looked at her with withering eyes. Trisha wasn't spectacular looking, but pretty enough for a human. Her hair was unkempt, a mass of fair tawny that hung in a straggly plait down her back. She had a softly tanned face, dusted with brown freckles. She was tall, but held herself in a way that not only suggested she was a Servant-not noble, not rich-but also demeaned her, made her look smaller.  
  
"Est-King Elessar has gone," Arwen said shakily, trusting the girl with the information. "He is tracking Legolas."  
  
Trisha was taken aback. She had no idea about her King's intricate past as a Ranger, and his skills in such areas as tracking; she knew him only as the prim, noble man that sat completely upright during the days upon days of inquisitions in his velvet-cushioned throne, and as the man who would give up his work for a day to sit by either of his child's beds should they have a fever.  
  
"Why does Legolas need tracking?" came Trisha's nervous voice.  
  
Arwen only shrugged hopelessly; Aragorn hadn't told Faramir, and Faramir hadn't told her.  
  
~*~  
  
There came a hiss of displacement of air. Legolas barely had time to brace himself, hold himself upright with aid of the pole to which he was shackled before the scaled leather of the man's whip came in contact with his side. He didn't allow himself the luxury of crying out, instead closed his eyes tightly. If he concentrated, he could almost hear the trees beyond the countless meters of stone wall, could almost feel the familiar prick of the sky on his skin, and of nature in his veins.  
  
There came another stirring, this time of human flesh, and the force of a robust man's fist coming in contact with his jaw jolted Legolas' light form. Legolas felt blood in his mouth, and swallowed it distastefully, his tongue tersely lapping up the remaining crimson on his lips. His body was jerked upwards by hands underneath his armpits, and Legolas opened his eyes to a bearded face with thick brows and wide nostrils leering at him, a hairsbreadth away.  
  
"Tha's for me wife," said the voice, low and heavily accented, smelling of earth and sulfur.  
  
A knee caught Legolas in the stomach, and though his concentration on not feeling the pain didn't allow him to register the shock of his rib being broken he heard the distinct crack of a snapped bone, barely out shouting the rabid cheers of the massed townsfolk.  
  
And then it was over. Legolas' bounds were untied, but the elf was winded and dispirited; this beating had been worse than the others, and Legolas knew that they would only get worse. The town, no longer a mass, went about their ways, some venturing towards their homes or shops, others bunching a few feet away and talking in hushed voices. The 'Mayor' came over, kneeling beside the elf, catching the elf's jaw bruisingly in his hand.  
  
"Where is your father, elf?" came the low growl of his voice. Legolas, taken aback, shook his head.  
  
"I don't know," he tried to say, but his voice fell from his lips uselessly along with a few droplets of blood painfully drawn from the back of his cracked throat. Legolas' vision swam, lurched, and blurred at the edges; suddenly, the face that had been so clear was obscured, and Legolas knew no more.  
  
***  
  
A/N: Again, sort of short.sorry.I know where I'm bringing this story, but I'm not sure if I should branch into a more R rated plot or leave it mild, or if I should leave it as such. Also, not sure exactly the point where I want to end it. Hopefully the story'll keep writing itself for me =^^=  
  
In response to your reviews;  
  
Tithen Min: It *does* hurt! Plus, you get very odd patterns on your head, particularly if you have a Braille keyboard, I'd bet. LOL Somebody needs to buy you a chair with rails! . Chair rails. What are those called? Watch me be up all night trying to figure it out. LOL Schizophrenic reviewer! SCORE! =^^=  
  
Reginabean: Yay! Glad your computer finally un-wonktified. Your review looks fine.I hope the storm breaks, though, and if it doesn't that lightening doesn't strike a cow or something who goes crazy and mows down your house, for that'd be rather tragic. Sorry about your snowed in car! Have you tried a blow torch? (cackle) =^^= Enjoy new chapters to come!  
  
Elentari Manwe: *blushes and giggles schoolgirlishly* aww.tank you.Hope the horridness of this chapter didn't permanently scramble your braincircuts or something.That'd be horrid, I'd feel really bad. No, you adding me didn't spook me too bad LOL The more insanity in my life the better, right? Meant that as a compliment =^^= In between EM and Manwe, who should I cheer for? LOL 


	9. The Morning Moon

****

Under the Morning Moon

Chapter Nine: _The Morning Moon_

***

A/N: Long chapter here…lots of action. Though, of course, the action is as usual crap, I've nevertheless upped the rating of this chapter to a low 'R'. Sort of like a…14A, I suppose. Any way, enjoy. I'm very sorry about this chapter taking a week to get up; I didn't have enough spare time to get deeply in to writing one of the more climactic parts of this story during the week. I hope you'll forgive me! *pleading little stare incl. quivering lip and big brown eyes*

Also! For those of you who aren't tired of my pointless rants, I've several pointless orders of business. Number one. HAVE ANY OF YOU SEEN THE GUY THAT PLAYS SAURON? Holy ****ING HELL! The guy's arms are like the size of ME. It's bloody AMAZING. He's be the best hugger, except you'd like drown in his 'ceps. Order number two; for those of you who have read RoTK, do you not agree that Legolas and Aragorn should have had a more substantial goodbye scene? I mean, hullo, the elf only saved your life six billion times! Jeez! And thirdly, I figured out why Aragorn lives 1.5 times longer than normal humans…LOL Yaaay!!! =^^= Thanks everybody for your help on that topic.

Without further ado;

***

Aragorn tensed, squaring his shoulders proudly. He stood before a stone structure rearing several stories in the air, beautiful in the same way that Dwarrowdelf had been. Squared, stone, architecture remarkably sturdy. There was no need for the ornate, cursive curls of the Elvish way of life when something was built to last, Less attractive, though, was the fence of thistles that those living in the city had erected. Aragorn had cut up his shins rather remarkably after jumping the same spot he estimated Legolas' captors had done. The injury had slowed him considerably in finding a way to enter the city.

It was nearly morning, he could judge. In the distance, the first tendrils of the sun poked over the horizon, staining the navy of the sky with the more attractive golds and reds of sunrise. But, less happily-greeted in it's coming were the charcoal clouds clustering above the forest while Aragorn tried to find away into the stone haven. He could sense, almost Shaman-like in his senses of the weather, that the clouds were laden with rain threatening to spill within the hour. It would be a grand storm.

~*~

Meanwhile, Legolas awoke from a dreamless sleep in horror. Nightmares were so much easier to understand than the obsidian void that claimed him in the midst of deep horror and pain. Why had not the Valar graced him with at least some escape from the stony reality that surrounded him, four walls and ceiling? _Perhaps there was no Valar; no spirits of Arda…_Legolas shook his head brutally at the thought, momentarily pondering hitting himself for such a blasphemous thought. 

Instead, he concentrated on the lash-marks up his legs. They were already healing, new skin molding itself atop the ugly wounds in his legs. Grim with satisfaction, he realised that he still retained some of his elvish heritage in his heart. He had yet to succumb to any injures. Legolas pulled his tunic to just under his chest, glancing over his stomach for any wounds, but they had all but disappeared. _Thank Valar, _Legolas thought unabashadely. He smiled, and surprised even himself by finding that indeed such a gesture was powered by mirth. Though, deep down, he felt as though he was being transformed into a mortal his body did not accept such a thought.

What time was it? He couldn't even guess. Perhaps midday, he thought. _Please no._ It was so early…his body needed repose from the torment. Of course, he could will himself against the hurt, convince himself that the pain was only temporary and would fade within the moment. But as the humans realized that they could do little to hurt the elf, they increased the pain of their beatings a threefold. 

The door of his cell opened a crack, and despite himself Legolas started. He slowly stood, using the wall to as support. "Who goes there?" he asked proudly, and was met by the shallow laugh of yet another different man. There was a new one every day who came to take him from his cell. Legolas' flared his nostrils, ominously sniffed the air. There was no scent of industry's fire as of yet, nor of life milling around the town. It was, perhaps, not even morning.

Which meant only this one man would supervise him.

  
Which meant he could escape.

Cheered, Legolas straightened himself, his shoulderblades digging into the bricks. "I asked you a question, slime," he spat venomously. The Man only laughed again, and took a step into the cell. All of Legolas' supsicions were confirmed; the scent of morn-dew hung thickly on the air, and the entire essence of the man seemed to drip with that of one who had just awoken. 

"That is of no substantial value," the rough voice returned. It was haughty and scholarly, but also brutal like all of his brothers-and he, too, wanted the elf to pay. "Come," he beckoned with a vague wave of his hand. He took a step out, and the door of the cell slowly began to swing shut. The elf quickly covered the distance of his cell, and slid out of the ajar door into the morning.

It was beautiful. The air was rippling with a coming storm, and the moon above prickled deliciously at Legolas' arms. Never before had he stood without shackles or bindings outside of his cell, and it felt absolutely marvelous-the momentary freedom. Though short lived, Legolas knew that the thought of life still existing-the moon, stars, trees-beyond this torturous prison would be enough to keep him from crying out during this beating.

Then he could make his escape.

The man turned to the elf, a greedy grin crawling over his features. Legolas' eyes widened; he had misunderstood the intentions of the man. As if struck, he realised what indeed were this morning-visitor's intentions. "NO!" Legolas screamed out, his voice a note of raw innocence amidst the corrupt, stony aura which the stone city emulated. 

At that moment, the heaving clouds churned all the more powerfully, and all at once the collected rain fell from the sky, as if the dismal heavens wept for what was pending to their Elf-Child. Legolas stumbled backwards a step, judging his surroundings with still-wide eyes. He was disarmed, and the man before him carried a sword. He had no doubts that this Mountain Man would be surprisingly skilled with blade, as the muscles in his right arm seemed to be more taut than those in his left-a trait of a skilled swordsman. 

Legolas glanced about again, taking a step back. Relentless, the man advanced a pace, and his footfall beat with Legolas' own blood in the elf's upswept ears. _Not again, _Legolas prayed to himself, and even in his mind his voice was broken with horror and disgust. _Saes, not again. _

The Blonde lanced forward without knowing he did so. Positioning himself with most of his weight on his left foot, he struck out with the right. The movement, fluid and almost too fast to catch, caught his captor alarmed. There was a mighty crack as Legolas caught the man's jaw with the toe of his shoe. Expecting swift retribution for the moment of independence, Legolas ducked down in a wave of flaxen hair, easily dodging the fist that belted out to strike the Elf.

Legolas crouched, tensed like a panther sighting its prey, before springing forward like a released arrow. His hands flew to the Man's neck, thumbs digging into his throat. Legolas felt the man's pulse beating through his jugular's beneath his fingers at parallel sides of his neck, and heard the man's choking gasps. 

The man struggled, his arms flailing, his thoughts shifting out of those of a sensible man to irrational, strangled ones. In a lack of oxygen the man forgot about the orders against harming the elf and drew his blade. Hands quivering from lack of oxygen, he unsheathed his blade and swept it before the elf could react deep into his side.

Spluttering, the elf fell back, the sound of his body crashing to the ground muffled by the rain. He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow, trying to will the cry of pain that rose in his throat back into his lungs but he could not. Head swimming, the elf at last choked out a mighty cry of pain that seemed to shatter the hearts of those who slept and didn't understand what they heard. 

~*~

Aragorn heard not the scream of his friend, but instead felt a dread crawl over the back of his neck, hairs standing on end. Something was terribly wrong, he could feel it in his heart. He hesitated, before breaking into a run. Ignoring the laws of the Ranger-slow, steady, find a way-he began to look at the unmarked walls with renewed desperation and speed. He tripped over his own feet, but caught himself before he fell. _Legolas, hold on, _he said in his mind. _Please, please, I'm almost there….just hold on…_

~*~

Broken hands sought forward, his blind eyes pushed violently shut. He lay on the cobbles, motionless with his hands shoved infront of him, hair bloody and matted in a vulgar stroke of flax down his bare back. Slowly, he delved his toes into the stones on the ground, arching away from the antagonistic cold of the cobbles on his bare belly, and let out a cry of pain, tears dashing his cheeks. The tender, gushing gash in his side lay splattering the ground with a pool of crimson. 

Ignoring the flames that ignited up his spine and splayed outwards from within the source of all his pain, he curled his fingertips into a crevice of the cobbles, fingernails cracking under the force of his weight as he dragged himself forward. A dark trail of blood smeared from the elf's open side as he pulled himself forward, over the cold of the stone ground marvelously slicked with rain. Again, he arched upwards, whispering and hissing in Elvish, his tears hot on the pale cold of his cheeks. Blood rushed into his mouth, and he vehemently coughed it out, droplets of red splaying in front of him.

All too early, a squared body turned, his voice gruff and as a knife-slash in the dark of the rainstorm; through the haze of pelting rain, a figure had noticed the hunched and dying figure of the lone blonde as he tried, fruitlessly, to escape. Defensively, the elf struggled onto his knees, whimpering in the worst kind of pain. The rain drove relentlessly over the whip-scars on his arched back, delved into the gaping bloody gap near his ribs, making the runoff around the elf a hideous blend of the innocent iridescence of rain stained with the corrupt scarlet of the Elf's blood. 

Senses dulled by the bloodloss, and the footsteps muffled by the gales of violent wind and the ceaseless rain that it brought, Legolas didn't have time to protect his mostly-naked form from the elephantine hands that snatched him about the waist, hauled him to his feet. The elf didn't have the sense to yell out, nor the strength to struggle. With horrible resolve, he allowed his tense muscles to at last loosen, and relax. He fell limp against the mountain man's grip, boneless and submissive. 

The man abruptly forced the Elf into his arms, hitching an arm underneath the Elf's knees, and using the other to hold him behind the shoulders. Legolas' head rolled back, thoughts of death and darkness replacing the chaste thoughts that seemed to go hand-in-hand with his name; in the past, before he became what presently he was; nothing, those who heard the name of the Youngest Prince of Mirkwood would revel in the way his name seemed to coincide with the joy and happiness he radiated from his eyes. But if they knew him, what thoughts plagued his mind in the last minutes of his life, they'd have wept every time his name was spoken…

Legolas gurgled dully on a rush of bile and blood that brewed in his mouth, twisting and writhing about the man's grip to violently spit it about the cobbles. For the movement, he earned a slap to the face. Frozen from the rain, the man's flesh was hard, and his knuckles left harsh bites of red on the Elf's impossibly ashen face. Without ceremony or hesitation, the man threw the elf back to the ground ere he stood. "You'll pay," were the only words, his voice gruff, as was the norm with his culture- "You'll pay for that little ruse," the man promised. And with that, he fell to his knees. 

Hands scraped as poison over Legolas flesh, as he still tried to writhe away from the hands while they quested his sodden, bare chest, hesitating in shock at the hard muscle of his abdomen. One hand draped across the Elf's throat, as it twitched in apprehension with the elf's ragged breath. Legolas burrowed his eyes shut again, his vision swimming dizzily, trying to will himself into unconsciousness…or, better, to death….how sweet the arms of demise would feel embracing the Elf's broken spirit…How cleansing it would be to walk the Halls of Mandos, forever…

The Elf seized up. _Eldarion, Gilraen, _the children of his heart; how would they be able to cope without the presence of their Elf? _You are greedy. Aragorn. Arwen. The family of your heart and soul. _Legolas arched upwards, grinding his skull against the cobbles, trying to evade the probing hand that sought to unclasp his tattered leggings-which clung to his legs like a second skin, such was the effect of the pelting rain on the fair Gondorian fabric. 

With bloodied, frantic fingers, Legolas tried to bat at the hands that peeled away his leggings, but knew it would be no use; the strength he had formerly possessed had melted with his spirit and had washed away with the bloody rainwater, veining through the gaps of the cobbles. "No, no," Legolas breathed. "_Saes, tampa, tampa…_" [Please, stop, stop,]

__

Uncomprehending of the language, the man persisted, his motions harsh and abrupt, driven by lust and the realization of his domination, and only intensified by the fact that the thick shroud of rain would slow any of the other villagers to go seek out their elf… 

In the distance, a hollow sound began to dully ring through the driving rain; persistent like the beating of a drum, like hurried hearbeat as it grew closer, thudding dully over the cobbles of the city with determined intensity. The man pressed a hand flat into the Elf's belly, and another underneath his chin to impair his movements, to eliminate any chances of escape, before cocking his head to the side. Through slated eyes and a tangle of wind-swept, sodden hair the man tried to catch the source of the sound.

"_Oh, shit,_" said a voice, feet away from the Mountain Man. Though the figure was obscured by the dark cloak he wore and the driving rain that curtained him from the burly antagonist, his voice was firm, resolute and unmeasurably kingly despite the rough undertones of the earth and the wind. Immediately , Aragorn withdrew his sword and held it in a shuddering, gloved hand. It had been years since he'd last fought with a sword, in any occasion aside casual fencing with his guards, or with Legolas.

History replayed itself, years in seconds, as Aragorn saw-eyes ruefully narrowed, and therefore through a tangle of lashes-the vague outline of a robust figure hunched over the almost naked silken one of his closest friend; he was reminded of a broken elf, battered, bleeding, years before. But, somehow, this was much worse.

The storm wavered, the driving rain seeming to draw away. Though slight was the change between the intensity of the storm from one minute to the next, it was enough. The Again-Ranger squared himself, leaning forward on his right leg, squeezing the hilt of his blade for reassurance. Feet away, forcibly splayed on the cobbles, was a pale and distinctly fading elf. His entire body was several shades whiter, as if all the blood in his form had drained. The most distinct parts of his body were now the dark, blood-stained lips on his face and the deep gash in his side, blood running like a river out of it. His eyes had faded into glass, reflecting the sky above.

Through the dead eyes of his near-dead friend, Aragorn could see the swirls of the heavens, of eternity, of the one star still in the morning sky that had refused to fade as of yet. He could see the dull crimson and orange slashes of the rising sun far to the east, and the crescent of the morning moon that-like the solitary star-knew that it's time was not yet up. 

A cry from deep in his chest raked at Aragorn's throat, and as he heard himself scream it was as though he hovered alongside, a presence not occupying the body of somebody who could be so fiercely angered. "You killed him," Aragorn was dimly aware of his voice speaking, "You killed him, you bastard…" Less skillful of late, his movements harried by the intense quivering of his hand and the tears that obscured the edges of his vision, he swung out with his sword.

The blade was met, and in unison the twin notes of each blade coming in contact with the antagonists rose through the still-relenting rain. The elf lay, crumpled, dying and forgotten at the moment as the Mountain Man took stance. It was all rehearsed to him; his people taught their children the laws of the blade when they were barely tots, and so this particular man had years of practice on his shoulder. That, and he was in practice, not fatigued by days of endless travel or by emotions tugging like small ghosts at the back of Aragorn's tunic, plucking away at his courage.

He danced to the side, surprisingly lithe, and lifted his manufactured blade before his face. Practiced in his grace, he lanced forward and swept the blade as easily though it was a paintbrush, and Aragorn the canvas. But the King parried, stepped to the side. He shifted his weight, restless, unable to keep himself from showily dancing backwards. Aragorn had little time to weigh his opponent's skill, or to measure the usefulness of his environment. He would have to defeat this enemy quickly, lest the Mountain Man take advantage of the familiar surroundings.

A glimmer of silver stained the sky, and met little residence cutting into the meaty flesh of Aragorn's opponent's forearm. "Ai!" shouted the Mountain Man, throaty in his pain. His blood was a healthy dark crimson, staining the entire man's left hand in mere seconds, dripping along the ground. First blood was Aragorn's. 

Bloodloss temporarily set haze over the man's senses, and his eyes dulled. He took a staggering step backwards, twisting only slightly to the side in a defensive pose, and he balanced his sword flat in the air, point towards Aragorn. The moment of weakness would last only a second, Aragorn knew, before the man could collect his senses and mentally numb the pain of his cut vein.

"_ELENDIL!" _shouted Aragorn passionately. He lost his sight, his hearing, and all that existed was his blade. He swung it to the left, and it passed weightlessly through his fingers as it struck the Mountain Man's blade with surprising intensity. Aragorn didn't hear the two metals come in contact, but instead sensed it instinctively as he disarmed his opponent. The stout, bloodied figure didn't have time to cry out as Aragorn shifted easily, taking a step to the right, back, forward, before lunging forward.

Aragorn's knife passed through the flesh in the Man's belly. Merciless in his attack, Aragorn tugged the blade downwards, slashing a gash in the man's stomach.

Aragorn's sight returned. He watched, horrified yet with complete satisfaction as the braid of the man's large intestine spilled with his blood out of the hole yawning at his navel. The man, still living, fell to his knees and swept his hands over his form, touching the warmth of his own entrails where they hung from his stomach. His last thoughts were of numb horror as he realised what his stomach felt like form the outside, before he slumped forward and died without a word.

Aragorn shed his cloak, ignoring as the now-light rain pricked at his bare arms, and hunched beside Legolas. He took a moment to estimate the elf's bloodloss, and with horror calculated only a few dozen hours of left of life within the motionless form. _At least he lives, _Aragorn thought. _Thank Valar. _He tucked his cloak neatly about the Elf's form, covering him with some decency, before tucking his friend against his own chest, cradling him like he used to hold his son. Not even looking back at the dead form of his opponent, Aragorn stood and swiftly left the way he had come.

~*~

__

Thud. Thud. Aragorn's footsteps! Arwen didn't allow herself time to rejoice, for she could sense the heaviness in his steps; either he bore a great burden, namely his brother-of-heart, or he was wary with emotion at an unsuccessful search. The Queen of Gondor couldn't allow herself to pray for the former, but she didn't want Aragorn's two-week search to have been in vain. _Thud, thud, _as the steps drew nearer. She belted down the corridor to meet her husband at the front gates.

His black tunic was stained with crusted blood, and his forearms obscured with crimson to the elbow. Slung across him as motionless and untaut as cloth, was Legolas, hair matted to Aragorn's arms because of his blood, a bloody cloth pressed into his side. Aragorn's eyes didn't see his wife. Knowing he was safe, at last, in Minas Tirth he knelt on the silver-veined Marble, delicately lay his friend before him, and fell into unconsciousness. 

***

__

A/N: Woooo…that was draining. Longest chapter I've written to date. Sorry about the crap action sequences; I have no idea how to properly describe fencing, so I hope I bluffed all right. I know that there was no way this chapter could be classified as anything but AU, but hey…

Also; you guys are the *BEST*. Thank you soooooooooooooooooo much for all your *beautiful* reviews…They keep me alive. I feel so horrible at not being able to write you a perfect story in response to all the wonderful encouragement you all give me. Is there anything I can do to thank you all for your reviews? Make requests! =^^= I feel horrible at only being able to give you these chapters when you guys give me the words that cheer me up after a horrible day…Sorry, I'm ranting. 

If I missed answering any of your reviews I'm realllly realllly sorry…I had to clean out my Inbox because I couldn't send out rant emails to any of my mates, so I had to delete all your reviews…

Fantasia: *grin* All right, I continued…LOL Hope you enjoyed!!

Reginabean: Hope that no mad cows found you. And I took your advice and have decided to not end this story till the end. =^^= *giggle giggle*

Tithen Min: Armrests! I'm so proud of myself…I figured out the *real* name for Chair Rails! But now I'm all disappointed…arm rests? How dull is that?! I mean, really. Arm rests? As for your madness, there is nothing to excuse, for aren't we all a little mad? *dramatic music* erm…LOL Thanks for your review! Hope you enjoyed!

The wanderer: LOL Yeah, you spelt it fine. Hope that you caught this update in time because, knowing me, it's going to be a while before the next one (miserable sob). Hope you enjoyed!

WeasleyTwinsLover…: Sorry about the Legolas abuse…But it ended in this chapter! YAY! But feel free to growl at me again if it helps =^^= Thanks! Enjoy the next chapter when it comes out!

Lissa: *giggles and blushes* Thanks. Dunno…Legolas has torture appeal, I suppose. And Rangers *do* rock, even if they're like…6006006359203830 years old. Grr…

Bobo: *sniffs too* Agreed…=^^= Hope you enjoyed!!!

Jambaby1963: thanks! Sorry about Legolas not being as brave as I love to read about him being (miserable sigh). I tried to up-his-image by making him at least strong enough to strangle Nasty Dude # 2….Sigh. Thanks! =^^= Hope you enjoyed!

EvilSpapplePie: LOL Yes, I have a thing for men-who-like-children, and seeing as I can make Legolas like children, why wouldn't I just go ahead and do it?! *cackle that sounds oddly like 'the world is mine'*… Sorry about all your homework! Email me if there's anything I can do to help out with it, 'k? =^^=

Elentari Manwe; As usual, ****BLLUUUSSSH*** Giggle. Thanks =^^= Hope you enjoyed Ch. 9, too! 

*** 


	10. Fly conclusion

Under the Morning Moon  
  
Chapter Ten: Fly  
  
***  
  
A/N: Wow. Phew. I was nervous about that last chapter; it has a more graphic death than I'm used to writing, and definitely a little higher than PG-13. But, at least up until I write this, there haven't been any complaints about it.Again, phew. Thanks for being so acceptant of my style =^^= However, I'm slightly concerned about something: none of you have reviewed saying what I should write as my next story! I'll probably put up poll with all your ideas to be voted on.  
  
Also-if any of you want a Beta, I'm thinking about doing that. =^^= Contact me! Kentucky_fried_camels@Hotmail.com  
  
The song featured in this chapter is 'You Can Still Be Free' by Savage Garden.  
  
Also, this chapter's dedicated to Bobo-for all the emotional help she's given me while I've written this.and, of course, comic relief *GG* =^^= Thanks!! *huggles*  
  
This is the last chapter in this particular story.Actually the fact that this is the last chapter came as rather a surprise to me. I suppose I could have elaborated greatly on some of the minor relationships of this story- but instead I found an opportunity to tie up most of the lose ends. And so I did.  
  
REMEMBER: FRIEEEENNNDDDSSHIIPPPPP not Slash XD ***  
  
~Cool breeze and autumn leaves  
  
Slow motion daylight  
  
A lone pair of watchful eyes  
  
Oversee the living~  
  
Aragorn was hunched, dressed only in the gray robes that his healer had clad him in, on the bedside chesterfield in Legolas' chambers. The elf lay on his back, hands folded neatly over his bare chest. A more neatly woven one, replaced hourly, had replaced the makeshift bandage Aragorn had fashioned out of his tunic. The steady flow of blood from the wound was slowly staunching-but the elf remained unconscious.  
  
Aragorn had awoken fourteen hours after he had fallen unconscious on the steps of his kingdom, and had immediately been carted away-along with Legolas-to the Healer's ward. Norobr'ah, a willowy old man, was awoken at nearly midnight to tend to the King and his advisor.  
  
The King had gotten off fairly easy; he had only collapsed from exhaustion and stress, and a deep dreamless sleep that lasted through most of the morning granted him complete recovery. However, when he awoke, he had to be restrained by a very grim-eyed Faramir as he tried to run into Legolas' room, to see his friend.  
  
~Feel the presence all around  
  
A tortured soul  
  
A wound unhealing  
  
NO regrets or promises~  
  
Legolas was having troubles healing, Faramir had told him gravely. It was doubtful he would last through the morning. The cut still bled as relentlessly as it had when it was fresh. Even a mortal's cut would have begun to clot, reacting to the herbs and the salves that were so tirelessly applied. But Legolas' spirit had somehow been dampened in his prison, and his elvish will to live was slipping fast out of Aragorn's grip.  
  
For hours, Faramir spoke softly to Aragorn as he lay uselessly in the bright-white linens laid out by the Healer. When, at last, Aragorn could argue comfortably he had enough strength to walk to Legolas' room, Faramir granted him leave.  
  
Legolas looked horrible. His body was ashen, his abdomen sunken so badly that each of his ribs poked clearly through the skin. A horrid gray-green tinge dappled in ugly splotches over Legolas' face and neck, and the area around the then-uncovered wound was stained a wretched green. Legolas shook as if being rocked continually by invisible hands, seizing up, arching his back and whimpering before falling back onto the mattress, still quivering. His entire body glistened with sweat.  
  
~The past is gone  
  
But you can still be free  
  
If time will set you free~  
  
Alone in the room, Aragorn dropped to his knees in horror and had to hold himself back from retching. His world dropped from beneath his knees, and he could feel his stomach rise to his mouth. Eyes clamped shut, Aragorn cradled his face in his hands, unable to look at the seemingly feverish elf in his near-death state on the bed he had slept so harmoniously not a month before.  
  
"Oh my god," Arwen's voice came. Aragorn knew what his wife's expression would be; twisted, face pale, crimson lips drawn in to her mouth in horror. He felt the ripple of air beside him as his wife as well sunk to her knees, throwing her arms about her husbands shoulders. Like a babe, Aragorn fell into her arms, and wept into her shoulder as she tenderly rocked him.  
  
Legolas had begun to recover sometime after Aragorn had fallen asleep. His temperature went down, and some colour began to return to his form. The speckles of discolouration that shrouded his perfection in an orcish unpleasantly faded, replaced by a still-fevered blush. The wound began to heal over itself, and the old healer knew that at last the elf was reacting to the many medicines that had been forced upon his system.  
  
~Time now to spread your wings  
  
To take to flight  
  
The life endeavor  
  
Aim for the burning sun~  
  
Now, it was the sixth night past midnight that Aragorn had sat beside Legolas' bed. Arwen had long ago left to tend to her children, but Aragorn remained hunched at Legolas' bedside. His body shook only when he exhaled, now, and his breathing was rhythmic, in time to the steady rise and fall of his chest. His complexion was normal, his eyes no longer dancing in their sleep but instead staring sightlessly at the canopy of his comfortable bed.  
  
Aragorn edged closer, laying a palm as he had many times on the Elf's cheek. It was cold to the touch, but the organic almost-winter cold that characterized their culture. It was not unhealthy, but ordinary. Legolas shivered slightly against the touch, before leaning unconsciously in to it. Even while his spirit wandered the realms of Elf-Dream, he could recognize friend from foe in such a simple gesture as a brotherly touch to the cheek.  
  
~You're trapped inside  
  
But you can still be free  
  
If time will set you free  
  
But it's a long long way to go~  
  
Without warning, the elf's far arm lifted in the air, crossing across it's chest. Aragorn was startled, but knew immediately what to do. He reached out, clasping the elf's hand in mid-air above the pale, quivering chest of his closest friend. Legolas eyes were clear, reflecting Aragorn's haggard face in the clear, obsidian pupils.  
  
"Aragorn," said Legolas. His voice was quiet, but not weak. All of the former princely valor and the infinite years of love and kindness that surrounded the elf's very being were still laced into the three syllables he uttered. Aragorn beamed at his friend, the hand that cupped the Elf's cheek dropping away. He squeezed the imprisoned hand of the blonde-which shook.  
  
"Legolas," replied the man. His voice, unlike the Elf's, was considerably less composed. He had not spoken for nearly a week, and at that moment he was nearly overcome with emotion-brotherly love, absolute pride and the desire to embrace the weakened Elf he observed.  
  
~Keep moving way up high  
  
You see the light  
  
It shines forever  
  
Sail through the crimson skies  
  
The purest light  
  
The light that sets you free  
  
If time will set you free~  
  
"I'm so sorry," spluttered the elf, suddenly flustered. He twisted in the bed, just slightly, and blinked his gaze away from the stormy eyes of the man. "I.I tried to escape-I should have been stronger.I put you in danger, again.Faramir told me that you were in the Hospital Ward while I was unconscious-I still heard, I still heard.Ai." "NO!" said Aragorn fiercely. He slid his hand under the Elf's jaw, cupping the elf's chin and forcing his friend to look up at him. "No," he repeated more tenderly, shaking his head. "Legolas, 'tis my fault. You almost died, because I didn't get there in time. If I had only come sooner, perhaps your spirit would not have." Aragorn grappled for the words, visibly weakening. "Perhaps he would not have."  
  
Legolas shook his head vehemently, struggling to sit up. He looked at Aragorn mournfully, his eyes tossed with bittersweet emotions of remembrance, but also of the complete and utter safety he felt with the King of Men at his side. "No, Aragorn.He did naught of the sort," Legolas breathed. The voice he had fought to keep emotionless finally broke. He closed his eyes, holding back tears. "You saved me twice, Aragorn.twice from."  
  
It was Aragorn's turn to shake his head. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment of absolute serenity, of intense peace. When he lifted his lids, Legolas had quirked his head in concern. "I.I could have been stronger.My spirit.I was greedy.I just wanted to die, so badly, so badly.But there's your children, there's you and Arwen.I'm greedy."  
  
Aragorn fought back the sudden urge to shake or throttle the elf. "No! No! Legolas, no. You came back. You're strong, stronger than me, than anybody.I'd have died, I know it.but you didn't, you came back." Legolas nodded vaguely, tears for a moment capturing his eyes in shimmering sadness. Before Aragorn could react the elf had skillfully regained his repressed stature, tears evaporated.  
  
For several heartbeats too long and meaningful to measure, the two sat with their eyes averted, Aragorn's hand still clasped around Legolas'. What would he do without his elf, his dearest friend for nearly ten years, and the only being that was closer to Eldarion than he himself? He had lost Legolas for years after the War of the Ring while he scoured Middle Earth with Gimli. But that had never been a permanent separation. But this time, this time Legolas had hovered inches from the Halls of Mandos, inches away from leaving Aragorn, alone, behind, forgotten, forever.  
  
~Sail through the wind and rain tonight  
  
You're free to fly tonight  
  
And you can still be free  
  
If time will set you free~  
  
"You're my best friend, Legolas," Aragorn announced suddenly. His voice cracked through the silence surprisingly loud, and Aragorn suddenly felt ashamed of his own words. He sounded so childish, and felt as though he was burdening the elf with his affections when all the Elf needed was to be rid of his own, darker ones. Yet Aragorn surprised himself by continuing, dropping Legolas' hand as he did to draw his hand over his haggard cheek. "I don't know.If you'd died, what I'd have done."  
  
"Aragorn, mellonamin," Legolas said fiercely, drawing himself on to his knees. He lay his hands around Aragorn's face, holding it stiffly in place before Legolas eyes. Aragorn twisted uncomfortably in the chair, enraptured completely by the intensity of the sapphire that met his eyes. Legolas' of a diamond, cutting through Aragorn, and also of wicked flame and soft rain in the springtime. They were resolute and modest, and yet they were rambunctious and effervescent, everything beautiful and ugly in the world somehow exploding at once through such a small vessel as the eyes. Aragorn couldn't look away. "I promise you this; until you die I will never leave this Middle Earth."  
  
Aragorn stared back in shock, then forced himself to look away. Tears filled his eyes, as if he had been staring in to a very bright light. "You cannot make such a promise," Aragorn whispered intensely. Legolas' hands coiled away, and lay on the bed. "I know how you crave to pass over the sea with your family, and with the rest of your Sindar kin."  
  
~And going higher than mountain tops  
  
And go high the wind won't stop  
  
And go high.  
  
Feel free to fly tonight.~  
  
"I admit," Legolas, replied with a twisted smile, "I crave passing the sea so very much that my dreams are consumed by its presence. My very essence, at times, seems to be so captured by the mental pictures of the waves, of ships that will deliver me." The elf then shook his head.  
  
"At times," Aragorn repeated dully.  
  
"I have a family here, Aragorn. I have as close to a son, and a daughter, as I'll every have in my life. And that's more important to me than any ship or sea or undying land that has ever existed. No, Aragorn. I will wait." Legolas smiled softly.  
  
And so he did.  
  
~*~  
  
Legolas stood on the deck of his ship, hand clutching to the rail until his knuckles were stained with white. The sea stained his nostrils with the marvelous, painful sting of salt picked at his nose. He flared his nostrils distastefully, but still craned his neck forward to take more of the blasts from the sea below head on.  
  
The vessel he had created was beautiful. He had painstakingly carved it out of fine woods, and painted it with a charcoal-stained paint to make it a fair silver. It was completely waterproof, and large enough for a dozen men. But it occupied only two. Legolas Thranduillion, of the Mirkwood Realms, who was too overrun with grief to remain on the land that had claimed the life of the one thing he had there held dear. And Gimli, son of Gloin, Elf-Friend, who had helped him build this ship, and who guided him now away from the life he had known and loved. Aragorn had died, at an extreme age for a human. But he had still died. His last days had been spent bedridden, surrounded by the few friends still alive. Legolas, during the entirety of Aragorn's slip from the living realms, had not slept or ate or dropped Aragorn's hand from his grasp. Nor had he been able to staunch the steady flow of tears down his cheeks.  
  
Arwen died the next year. Eldarion would take a wife, and together they would rule Gondor-proud, like the fairest of the Humans by heart and by spirit. Aragorn had left a legacy, and it was his son-Eldarion the Fair, Elf-Son and the King of Gondor forevermore. Though the lad had begged Legolas to stay, to stay and advise him on his rule as he had with his Father's, Legolas knew that lingering in Gondor would prove his demise. No, he had told the raven-haired man, you have Aragorn's blood in you. You need nothing but yourself to be great.  
  
And with that, he had left.  
  
The wind picked at his hair, throwing it about, combing it with the intensely salted strands of its being. Legolas' cheeks were dry, his eyes alert, and his spirit already lifting from his form in the most wonderful feeling of weightlessness he had ever experienced. Resisting the sea for so many years had made succumbing to it's call all the more beautiful.  
  
Something warm and comforting splayed at the small of Legolas' back, calling him back to Earth. Legolas turned and offered Elf-Friend Gimli a questioning smile, before glancing about. The ship had, while Legolas dreamt of the past, docked itself. In the distance, but not that far, reared the evergreen trees of an undying land. From the heart of this forest rose laughter-the sound of beauty-and the gentle, blended songs of a thousand different lips. Creeks babbled, and uncountable thousands of graceful elves milled about without a second thought to where they stepped.  
  
"Ah," Legolas said. "We've arrived."  
  
***  
  
A/N: Yes.That was the end. Wow. I had so much fun writing this despite all the complaints I made about it that it kind of feels odd that I finished it. Thank you all so much for following me through this story, and for poking me along if I ever strayed from it. Seriously. Everybody who read and reviewed this made the countless hours I poured over the appendices to make this a valid fic completely worth it. Thank you.  
  
This fic is dedicated in particular to Bobo-for her incredibly amount of support and good-humor, and to Celestra for always having the time to help out with it when I was going insane, and to Allora Gale.who read this story even though I still haven't reviewed hers. Tithen Min, Elentari Manwe, Evil Spapple Pie.You have been with me since the very beginnings.and I thank you for not having been alienated by anything I've written.  
  
Before I go completely off-topic-ramble, I'll thank everybody who reviewed Chapter Nine.  
  
Celestra: Thanks for your review! The doodles you sent me were beautiful =^^= I printed them out and have them in my science binder for relief from the dreariness. I particularly like you as a hyperactive elf! =^^=  
  
Kat Heiman: *blushes* .Aww.thanks. Though I really don't think my stories are worth any of the praise they get.Thank you so much for your review, and I hope you enjoyed!  
  
Tithen Min: Armrests are cool, but why couldn't they be called chair rails? I mean, really. 'K, I won't tell anybody that you're MORE THAN A LITTLE MAD =^^= No, it's ok.the more insanity the better, in my book.  
  
TheWanderer: Thanks! =^^= Um..apparently one chapter until it's done.and that was it.I hope you enjoyed! =^^= And thanks for all your beautiful reviews.Seriously.Chocolate covered elf coins for you!  
  
Bobo: *gigglegigglegiggle* Glad you liked my intestine descriptions, they were incredibly amusing to write. I hope I updated soon enough =-_^= (winking kitey that) and you enjoyed this chapter!  
  
Tbiris: Thank you very much! Hope you enjoyed the conclusion.  
  
Evil Spapple Pie: LOL Good to know you made at least some fun out of your assignments! And sorry that you have so many left! I know you've already said no but seriously, I'd be glad to help in any way. =^^= And look! I didn't let Legolas die.only Aragorn. Giggle giggle. So no pitch-fork stabbing, 'k? 'k. =^^= As for the cheating death thing, yes. Yes. That is the explanation.*cough* Hope you enjoyed!  
  
WeasleyTwinsLover.: *giggles* Glad my bluffing worked quite well. Look! Legolas wasn't *really* tortured in this, not physically at least. Hope that growl there got out lots of frustration =-_^= (wink) If you need to growl some more, though, feel free. LOL!  
  
Lissa: LOL I know, hey? Tolkien drives me mad. He's very close to being a God, but still drives me mad. Like, how did he not specify Legly's hair colour!?! It could be purple!! Giggle!  
  
IF YOU REVIEW THIS CHAPTER Could you please leave an email address for me to email my personal thank-yous to? I'd feel horrible if all your inspiring words went unthanked.=^^= Also! If you need a Beta, I'd be glad to do that for.well pretty much any kind of story! =^^=  
  
Now.what should I write as my next story!? Any suggestions?!  
  
NOTE TO ARAGORN FANS: WHEN ARAGORN DIED HE WAS GREASY AND GREY AND SENILE, SO I DIDN'T ACTUALLY KILL ANYBODY SMART OR SEXY! That is all.  
Readers: .So, what else is on? 


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